Godling Ascending
by Hi Pot And News
Summary: Response to DZ2's 'Harry, the Twice-Blessed Half-blood' challenge. Fem!Harry. Herakles Potter knew she was odd. Exactly how odd turned out to be far odder than she originally thought.
1. The Formative Years

**AN: **Hello, all! I'm trying my hand at a challenge fic so I thought I'd try out DZ2's 'Harry, the Twice-Blessed Half-blood' challenge. This story was already sitting in my plot-bunny file before I even found out about the challenge so I thought this would be a good chance to get it out there.

Also, I speak American English but I do try to keep the vocabulary in my stories congruent with the way the characters would speak, so if you're not familiar with English from the UK, there will be definitions at the bottom along with notes about monsters and stuff.

Warning: I'm crap at action scenes so I'll just apologize now for how unsatisfying they will be. This isn't me being modest either, I'm really bad at them.

C:

* * *

**Plot: **Every Half-blood has one god parent, this we know. However, Harry is different because of one reason: through ways of the divine, he has more than one god for a parent/guardian.

**Rules: **

Light, Grey, or Dark Harry

Harry's first god parent MUST be one of the twelve while others can be any of the Greek/Roman Mythological forces: gods, deities, divines etc.

Harry and Percy MUST have different views of right and wrong.

Either Thalia, the Di Angelos, or Clarisse must be allied with Harry — any others are up to the writer.

Whoever is Harry's first god parent MUST break the law and talk/interact/meet with Harry — they do this because of Halloween and they don't want to lose him again.

If Harry is Dark, Luke MUST see Harry as the new leading force of the New Olympus and pledge to serve him instead of Kronos.

Any pairings are welcome

Tom and Dumbledore must both feel wary about Harry when he comes into his godlike powers.

The Horcrux is destroyed — unless Harry's other god parent uses it to determine him as theirs

Even though he leaves Hogwarts for CHB or his own dwellings, Harry must keep in touch with his friends.

At least one of Harry's friends — or a redeemed friend if you want to use someone like Draco or Severus — must be a demigod.

Sirius and Remus do _not _abandon him.

**Guidelines:**

Harry and Percy as enemies. _**Nope.**_

Immortal Harry. _**Maybe.**_

Master of Death Harry. _**Maybe.**_

The force that determines Harry is a primordial ex. Thanatos, Erebus, Nyx, Chaos, etc. _**Nope.**_

Harry saves Luke before Kronos gets to him. _**Accepted.**_

Harry's god parent — the main one — is one of the Big Three. _**Hmmmmm.**_

Lily/James _were _that particular god in human form. _**Nope.**_

Others of the HP universe are demigods. _**Accepted.**_

A prophecy made about Harry. _**What, other tha**__**n**__** the **__**one about 'born as the seventh month dies'**__**?**_

Slash. _**Nope, not my thing.**_

The PJ/HoO universe being diverted from canon due to Harry's involvement. _**DUH!**_

Kronos — somehow — is Harry's god parent, so a Titan!Harry could be allowed too. _**Nope.**_

**Forbidden:**

Harry remaining the naïve, malleable wizard/demigod people wish him to be

Harry's main god parent being anything other that Olympian/Roman

Dumbledore and Tom as allies of Harry

Sirius and Remus abandoning Harry

* * *

**Disclaimer: **This will apply for any future chapters I might add as well. If you recognize it, it's not mine. If you _don't _recognize it, it's probably still not mine. Any writing of mine will be a patchwork of things I think are cool areas from other people sewn together by the threads of my personal writing style.

* * *

**Chapter One: The Formative Years**

**H**erakles Potter knew she was odd. It was the way she seemed to have been born already comprehending the world around her, remembering things she should have been too young to remember. It was the way her aunt and uncle looked at her suspiciously when unlucky things happened even though she had never been the naughty sort. It was the calm she felt in the face of things she saw other children crying about. It was the way her aunt and uncle refused to use her proper name at all; she hadn't known her name was actually Herakles and not Heri as she had always been called until she had seen Aunt Petunia write it down on her school application form.

"Why do you only ever call me Heri then?" Heri had asked, violating the rule about not asking questions.

Aunt Petunia's sour expression became more pinched.

"It's a ridiculous name!" the blonde woman snapped. "What sort of respectable person is named _Herakles_ of all things? It belongs on a side-show fortune-teller! And haven't we told you that there will be no impertinence such as asking questions in this house?"

No asking questions, that was the mandate that Heri was to live by if she wanted to retain her ability to remain within the Dursley household. She didn't really want to stay, but there were little other options for a little girl outside of living on the streets until she was killed, or taking up with a paedophile. As Heri was not eager to die or be perved on, she did what she could to not get kicked out.

She couldn't help being odd though, it seemed to be some innate part of her. Even still, it was fine enough; with her oddity came a warmth that overcame her whenever she was down, a sense of otherness that made her feel as if she wasn't _really _alone in the world.

* * *

**D**iscounting the mess with her parents' death, the first time something tried to kill her, Heri was four years old. Aunt Petunia had let her play in the garden that day, happy to have Heri out of the house while she watched childrens' shows with Dudley. Heri took advantage of the rare opportunity to play without Dudley fouling things up for her and poked about the backyard to her heart's content.

She was tending to the weeds around the poppies when she heard the rasping of something moving on the dirt. Soft hissing came from the direction of the mint.

_§Sscent . . . plump flessshh . . . Ssssooo hungry . . .§_

Heri scooted back from where she had knelt and scanned the plant-life warily. She had never heard such a voice before.

_§Where, where? Musst bite . . . strike . . . kill . . .§_

Heri was nothing if a child that knew danger when it was coming, working through the ebbs and flows of her aunt an uncle's tempers had taught her well. At the word 'bite' she had tensed, ready to bolt as whatever it was spoke of killing. Anyone else might had run off immediately but Heri knew that any sudden movement, forward or back, would provoke a violent response.

_§There!§ _

Quicker than a blink, something shot out of the poppies, flinging itself at her face. Heri snatched the creature out of the air with a firm grip under its head, plucking another one up as it tried to catch her off guard. She clenched her fists tightly, giving a them a sharp shake at the things writhed in her grip.

In her hands were the oddest snakes. Heri was quite certain that her relatives would deny their existence if they had ever heard of them. They were the size of regular garden snakes but they were of a blue colour she had never seen on any kind of animal, and wings the size and coloration of a pigeon's grew out of their backs. They shimmied pointlessly against her grip, wings fluttering in protest. They hissed in displeasure, spitting out threats and insults.

_§What sort of snake are you that has wings and can talk?§ _asked Heri, peering at them curiously.

_§Morsel speaks! Clever food . . .§_

_§Bite! Bite! Musst eat!§_

Heri shuddered at the thought of being eaten. She shook the one that was squirming the most once again, dazing it. She lifted the one that called her clever closer.

_§Of course I speak, I'm a person. It's you that's strange for talking.§_

_§Meaty mouthful . . . false words. This one . . . without speech of humans . . . the prey hisses . . . the way of serpents.§_

Heri wasn't sure how to take such a claim.

_§It doesn't matter either way,§ _Heri decided. _§I'm going to let you go and you two will leave.§ _

Snakes with wings were cool in theory, but they weren't much fun in reality.

She moved to put the dazed one back on the ground, but as soon as her grip loosened it thrashed violently, baring its fangs at her. Heri caught it by its tail instinctively and whipped its head into the ground. Her foot came up and stomped down on its body with a gruesome _CRUNCH._

Where once was a winged snake there was now a flattened corpse. Blood leaked from its mouth and gooey entrails discharged out from where the pressure of her foot had ruptured it.

Heri took in the sight of the creature she had killed with detached interest. She had never killed anything before, not even the spiders in her cupboard. She turned back to the remaining snake now quivering in her fist. She tightened her grip again, almost choking the animal.

_§__Are you going to go without any trouble?__§_ She asked it._§O__r am I going to have to take care of you too?__§_

The odd snake agreed to leave peacefully and never bother her again.

Heri decided she had enough of being outside for one day and returned to the house shortly after. She didn't notice the snake she had killed disintegrating into golden dust nor the eyes that had watched.

* * *

**I**f one were to ask someone to describe Heri Potter, they would receive different answers depending on the people they were asking. To Vernon and Petunia Dursley, she was a heathen child that was always up to no good; when she wasn't fouling up her chores she was running wild. To the residents of Privet Drive, she was like a changeling from the fairytales: odd, unpredictable, and they were certain there was something off about her even though they didn't have any concrete proof — there had to be _something _about her, why else would she be so frowned on? But to ask a stranger not yet polluted by the shady rumours about her, Heri was a remarkable, intimidating child.

It was not something one could put their finger on, not one trait that stood out to explain why Heri stood out in a crowd. She was intelligent, yes, but in a crafty way more than highly educated; there was a shrewdness about her. She was confident, yes, but it was a quiet self-assurance instead of the bright-eyed arrogance that was common to her age. There was no doubt she was beautiful, but it wasn't in the eye-catching way people exclaimed about. She had a face that was pleasing to look at that seemed to grow more appealing the more you looked at it; a comfortable sort of lovely.

She could sing, but it was nothing outstanding. She did well in art, but nothing inspiring. She could do sports, play instruments, take care of plants, and get along with animals, but no more than any other person that knew what they were doing. The only thing that was rather out of place was her quick temper and how fast she could run.

Of course, all that was ignoring the strange things that happened around her. Heri was as lost as anyone else when it came to instances where reality decided to go on holiday. She didn't know why that snooty substitute teacher's wig turned blue nor why she had been blamed for it despite the fact that she had been on the other side of the room when it happened. She couldn't explain the lights that shortened out, the cracked mirrors, the irregular speed her hair grew, nor the shaking furniture. If anyone had asked her, Heri would have pinned everything except her hair challenge on Dudley; wanton destruction was _his_ hobby, not hers.

If one were to describe Heri Potter, they would be most accurate in saying that she was a curious girl that was good at many things but great at very little. Whether this was because she was that way naturally or because her family discouraged her in every way is unknown.

* * *

**T**he first time an odd occurrence could safely be pinned on Heri was a few days before Dudley and she started primary school. It would be the first time they were away from the house without Aunt Petunia with them since Aunt Petunia was a fussy sort and didn't trust the teachers of the nursery school.

Heri was assisting her aunt in the folding of the laundry while Dudley vegged out in front of the telly. It was slow going because Aunt Petunia was very particular about how the creases sat and arranging the piles by styles and colours. Heri had just finished a stack to Aunt Petunia's exacting standards when calamity struck.

Dudley heaved himself up and bellowed for his mother.

"Mum! I want a snack!"

The sudden loudness just as the two females had slipped into a calm that tuned out the noise of the telly made both of them jolt. In Aunt Petunia's case, she simply sprang to attention to fetch her son something to eat. In Heri's case, she startled badly enough that her stack of folded clothes went tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, you clumsy girl!" Aunt Petunia scolded. "Pick those up right now and start over. I'll not have clothes strewn across this house!"

Heri hastened into action, snatching up the fallen clothing at once. She kept her eyes on the floor as her aunt bustled off to the kitchen. The sound of the refrigerator door opening was heard.

Arms filled with loose shirts, Heri glared in the direction Dudley sat. It was just like the noisy layabout to mess up her chores. This was the fifth time this week that he startled her into dropping what she was carrying!

Heri shoved the shirts back on the table and scowled at them. Then she frowned in concern; one of Uncle Vernon's shirt had a hole in it. There was a split in the seam of where the sleeve met the shoulder. She reached out and pinched it together while trying to decide what to do. Should she hid the shirt? Oh, she was going to get blamed for it either way!

As Heri worked herself into a mini-panic, she felt the hole she was pinching grow smaller. She pulled her hand back immediately in alarm. Then she gaped. There, where a split seam had just been was a perfectly stitched sleeve. It looked as good as new and showed no signs of pulling apart.

Heri rubbed her eyes and looked again. The shirt was still in pristine condition. What was . . . ? Had she just . . . ?

"Stop standing there like a lump and get back to folding!" Aunt Petunia snapped. She had a sandwich on a plate in her hands and was walking toward Dudley.

Heri immediately jumped back into folding, her hands moving automatically. She did her best to appear unbothered though her aunt wouldn't likely care either way. Even as she finished up with Uncle Vernon's button front and moved onto one of Dudley's Sunday shirt's, her mind stayed with the split seam that undid itself. Maybe her relatives were onto something when they blamed her for the oddest things.

Heri spent the next several weeks after that incident trying to fix the tears in Dudley's old clothes. When she finally managed to repair something on purpose, she decided that being able to do odd things wasn't nearly as bad as her relatives made it out to be.

* * *

**T**he first time Heri saw what could only be described as the spirit guarding her was when she was comforting a younger child as he cried his heart out on her lap. It was during her second year of primary school. On that day, reception and first year were sharing recess, and her cousin Dudley was revelling in having children even smaller than those he already terrorised to push around. The teachers were sitting on the other side of the playground and either couldn't see what was happening because of the distance that the play equipment blocking the way or they wrote it off as children just playing rough.

Dudley's victim was sweet-faced boy called Davy, one of the smaller five-year-olds, about as small as Heri had been at that age. Dudley and his pals pinned the younger boy down while they were 'playing Tag' and ground dirt in his face, laughing meanly as they did.

"You're IT!" hollered Piers Polkiss, Dudley's right-hand man.

The children that were part of the game shrieked and ran about.

Davy got to his feet wobbly, tears misting his eyes, and tried his best to tag someone else, but he just wasn't a very fast boy. They all ran from him, calling out taunts and making mocking faces at him. Again and again he tried to grab hold of someone, but they all stayed out of reach.

Dudley, someone Davy didn't try to tag at all even though the large boy was just as slow as him, soon got tired of waiting for a new person to become It and pushed Davy to the ground once more when Davy came within arms reach.

"You're ruining the game!" Dudley declared, frowning heavily at the boy on the ground. "Piers, you're It again. This loser's too slow to be any good!"

The crowd of children playing Tag immediately forgot all about Davy, not giving him a second glance as Polkiss tagged another of Dudley's bullies, forcing the game back into play.

Heri had been watching from the branches of the tree that she had been chased up in when Dudley's goons once again went about making her miserable. They didn't beat up on her like they did the boys, but they liked to drag her around and pull her hair (at least, they used to before she socked one in the mouth, scaring the bejeebus out of all of them). It was very lucky that she had long discovered that none of the other children could climb as well as she could, making the trees the locations she spent most of the recesses.

She had been keeping a wary eye on the proceedings just in case Dudley got it in his head to try to get one of the other children to pull her out of her tree. It didn't happen often since Heri had proved time and time again that she was slippery as an eel when she wasn't fighting back tooth and nail, but that didn't mean Dudley wasn't stupid enough to forget on occasion. When they had started tearing into Davy, she had watched with the eyes of hawk, ready to run for a teacher the moment they started to really hurt him.

When Dudley declared Davy too slow to be any fun, Heri was relieved. If the younger boy proved to be good entertainment, he would've become a new target, subject to torment whenever he was spotted. Really, it was to his own benefit that Davy bored them. That didn't stop Heri for sympathising with the poor boy as he was left behind though.

She covertly climbed down from her tree and seated herself at the base.

Davy got to his feet, sniffling all the while, and teetered off to the side. It just so happened that he came in Heri's direction. Their eyes met, Heri pensive, Davy wary. He looked like he was ready to bolt in the other direction — Heri was well known as the only person brave enough to stand up to Dudley, therefore scary in her own right — when she smiled hesitantly at him and patted the grass next to her. Melting under the show of understanding, Davy folded himself into the space next to her and clutched at the hem of her oversized shirt.

Davy's eyes were glassy and his bottom lip trembled. Only his pride kept him from crying as he obviously wanted to. She pulled a plaster from the pocket she always had some in and patched him up. They sat in companionable silence even as the boy held himself back.

After a minute, Davy broke the silence, choking out, "H-h-h-he's s-s-s-s-so mmme-eann. . ."

Heri patted that hand clinging to her in a comforting manner. She wavered a moment before reaching her other arm out toward him.

"Would you . . . would you like a hug?"

Davy didn't hesitate. With little finesse, he threw himself into Heri's arms, wrapping himself around her middle. She eased him into a more comfortable position as he sobbed, smoothing his hair gently as he all but crawled into her lap.

Heri wasn't familiar with hugging or giving/receiving comfort. She would have thought that holding someone as they cried would be terribly awkward for both parties involved. However, it proved to be the opposite. As she held the crying little boy, offering him understanding, she felt as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A shimmer of form out of the corner of her eye caught her attention even as her hands continued their soothing motions and she cooed quietly in reassurance. Heri looked up to see a ghostly figure of a woman watching them with sharp but understanding eyes. Davy didn't notice as he still had his face pressed into her thigh, but the woman nodded cordially at Heri, much like the way an important dignitary would nod to those attending to them, and then vanished even as Heri was still looking at her.

She caught sight of the spirit more often after that, but it was never more than a few seconds accompanied by a sense of approval.

* * *

**H**eri bent over where she landed and desperately gasped for breath. Her hand shot out to catch herself as her knees buckled, landing with a painful _THUNK. _Her head spun. She rested her forehead against the ground to relieve the heaviness she felt.

Sounds of shouting and confusion reached her ears after a moment and she lifted her throbbing head once more to survey the area. Confusion filled her. Was she on the roof?

"Where is she?" she heard a boy bellow. "I thought you said she turned in here!"

"I saw her!" another boy cried.

"Obviously not. She's not here!"

The two going back and forth sounded like the pair of Dudley's goons she had just been running from. Heri crept over the to the edge and peered down. There, looking like the stupid apes they were, was Piers and Malcolm, Dudley's main enforcers. One would have thought that after months of not being about to lay a finger on her they would lay off by now. Obviously she overestimated them.

She shuffled back from the edge on her rear and took a moment to settle her heart-rate. She had done something odd again. She had ran into a dead end and tried to jump behind a pair of trash cans welded into place in a wooden shelter. Next thing she knew, she was on the roof.

Heri got to her feet and walked the perimeter of the roof. It was mostly bare besides the door. She tried the handle; the door was locked as well. She let out a huff of frustration. How the hell was she supposed to get down then? She wasn't about to jump, she was two floors up!

She tried the handle again, this time trying to channel the oddness that got her there in the first place. If her weirdness could fix clothes and let her teleport, it was reasonable to think that it might unlock a door for her.

Twist, twist, jiggle—_click._

Heri beamed. It had worked! She opened the door and hurried down the stairs as fast as she could without falling. There was still a few minutes of recess left and she didn't want to get in trouble because the teachers couldn't find her.

As she sprinted back toward the play area outside, Heri couldn't help but wonder what else she could do with her powers.

St. Grogory's Primary School soon became a place of the strangest accidents.

* * *

**B**y the time Heri was in third-year, she was well known among the teachers as an observer. While the other children vied for attention and couldn't be bothered to see too far beyond their own interests, Heri sat quietly and watched. Unless chosen to answer questions or demonstrate something for class, she only ever watched.

"She's always watching," said Mr. Tisdale, Heri's gym teacher, unease in his tone as he spoke with other teachers during lunch.

While some of the teachers looked at Mr. Tisdale strangely at being unhappy with a child who always paid attention, there were many that agreed with the sentiment.

Heri saw far more than others thought she did. With her quiet, unobtrusive presence, she ended up being privy to many secrets. Far more than they'd ever want her to.

She had sat out in the corridors, looking through a book before classes, and watched as a forth-year student went down the halls, opening lockers and taking things out of them. He wore worn clothing that were as scruffy as hers were and he had a sly look about him. She had seen him do similarly twice before, but he had become extra shifty now that the school administration was cracking down about the thefts.

She had been in the lavatory and overheard a couple of the older girls talking about boys that they liked. One girl was talking about dumping the boy she was currently 'dating' since she had only been with him out of pity anyway and she had her sights on another boy whose well-off parents gave him lots of pocket-money.

Just before walking into the classroom one day, she had overheard her homeroom teacher talk excitedly on the phone with a friend about trying for a baby with her husband.

"I think we're finally ready," the woman had said. "Adam's stopped drinking so we'll have a stable environment for the baby."

She had been sent during recess to deliver a stack of worksheets to a teacher overseeing detention. Only a few students had detention that hour, not even a handful. Out of the small number there was a sixth-form boy, Terrence Wright, known for his bad attitude belied by a pretty face. She had paused in the open doorway and waited to be acknowledged by the teacher, but he was occupied keeping a keen eye on the delinquents he was supervising. A bit _too _keen of an eye when his sights reached Wright. Heri saw quite clearly the gleam in the man's eyes before he noticed Heri standing there.

Heri did not try to hide that she had seen the way he had looked at Wright. Judging by the tense way he greeted her and received the worksheets, he knew very well that she was onto him.

There was little that Heri missed when people let themselves become complacent in her presence. Whether they wanted her to or not, she was always watching.

* * *

**H**eri was hiding beside a fruit stand. A lumbering brute was not ten feet away from her, glaring around the area in search of her. She ducked farther down when he turned in her direction and held her breath.

Heri had been dragged out grocery shopping with her aunt and cousin. She had been told to push the cart around as her aunt looked for deals and Dudley dragged packages upon packages of junk-food back to the cart. Every now and then Aunt Petunia would scold her for slouching or 'looking like a wastrel.' Dudley would make faces at her as he bumped her on his way in search of sugary trash. Heri had been bored out of her mind just before the hairs on the back of her neck rose.

She turned slowly to see what was amping up her danger senses. There, looking ridiculous hold a shopping basket between his forefinger and thumb, was a giant man with one eye. And by giant, she meant _giant; _his shoulders were level with the top of the shelves. He also had only one eye. As she took in the sight of him and tried to make sense of it, he caught sight of her as well. Knowing better than to stay in place while strange things were happening, Heri booked it around the aisle while her aunt wasn't looking.

An ungodly roar echoed behind her as she ran, and she couldn't help but wonder why _no one _was at all troubled besides her. Aunt Petunia refused to tell them about the tooth fairy, for God's sake, how was she not bothered by the clearly supernatural happening right in front of her?

Thought was abandoned in lieu of running for her life. Whatever it was was chasing after her, though it was made difficult for him because of the small aisles and his chunky hands. Boxes of cereal and seasoning were knocked off the shelves; jars of were shattered across the floor; preserves and pickled vegetables everywhere; a shelf was dented by the force of the monster running into it.

Heri had flung herself behind a pineapple display and snatched up a box-cutter left behind under the stand. Her heart was going a mile a minute and she was positively vibrating with adrenaline. The safety knife looked incredibly pathetic when compared to what she was up against, but she pushed the blade up as far as it went and held it at the ready.

The monster came barrelling out of the dairy section and had snarled at losing sight of her.

"Come out, little hero," he crooned, falsely sweet. "There's no use in hiding from _me._"

Heri clenched her eye shut tightly and prayed to whatever powers that be that her weapon would be good enough and that she'd make it out of this alive. So caught up in her praying, she didn't see as the box-cutter gleamed brightly and took on a yellow hue.

"Here you are!"

The creature lunged forward, ripping aside the stand, sending fruit splattering.

Heri shrieked and flung herself to the side, just out of the monster's grasp. Left — right — side — other side — Heri desperately ducked and weaved, turning the beast round and round to stay clear of its hands. Too soon, he caught her by the back of her shirt and hoisted her into the air, grinning foully.

Not knowing what else to do, Heri jabbed out with her box-cutter, blade going right to the face. The tip pierced the monster through its eye, landing almost directly in its pupil. It dropped her like a hot rock and thrashed about, howling in pain. Heri landed on its great forearm and climbed back up it to twist the knife deeper, paying no mind to the blood, determined to end the thing. It fell to the ground, convulsing.

As the monster languished in the throes of death, Heri thanked the powers that be that she'd live to see another day. She climbed off the thing and almost fell to her knees in exhaustion. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply to calm herself down. Dear God, she had killed someone! He was trying to kill her as well but still!

"Heri!"

Heri's head snapped up at the sound of her name. Her aunt stood at the entrance of the fizzy drinks aisle, frowning.

"Heri, get over here at once!" Aunt Petunia called, gesturing impatiently. "I told you to stay by the cart! What are you doing over there?"

Heri looked at the place where the body of her kill should have been. There was nothing there. A quick look around revealed that the room was clear of anything that would indicate any kind of battle had just taken place. She looked at her hands that had just recently been dyed red with blood. They were perfectly clean.

Had it all be just some outrageous dream? Was she going crazy?

Something on the floor caught her attention. There, a few feet off from where the monster had lain, was a pocket watch. Bemused, Heri picked it up, testing the weight of it in her hand. It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary pocket watch until she opened it. Inside, on top of standard time markings, the clock showed days, weeks, months, moon cycles, and planetary movement. She gaped at the sight.

"Heri!" Aunt Petunia called again, impatience growing.

Heri tucked the watch into her pocket and trotted off toward her aunt. She wouldn't notice until later that the box-cutter followed her home.

* * *

**S**t. Grogory's Primary School was one that specialised in Classical Studies. Every second day, they would attend art classes, attending music classes in between. This was because they wanted to promote a sense of refinement on the future generation, and because parents paid more when they felt their children were getting better. Fourth-year and up even took Latin lessons, learning the language of the Romans as well as the mythology. At the end of the year, the three upper years would put on a show for the younger children about Roman culture and the gods.

Because she was known for being smart without being a teacher's pet, not a week into her third year an older student approached Heri about doing his Latin assignments for him. He was a lazy rich sort so he offered to pay her as well. Heri agreed easily enough and earned pocket money on top of getting a head start on the class she'd be taking the next year. The boy told his friends about her, and soon she was doing the homework of three other older students as well, getting ₤3 for worksheets and ₤5 for essays, more than enough that at any given time she could buy snacks and sweets to eat.

Heri spent most of her afternoon time that didn't involve doing chores reading up on the Olympians at the public library. The Latin teacher used the myths as the basis of her lessons so the stories they learned the language from were about the Greco-Roman gods shaping the world. Heri learned root words and how they came to be called such as well as marvelling at the outrageous feats the heroes accomplished.

Ceres, known to the Greeks as Demeter, was the goddess of agriculture. She was all about growing things and crops. Her name was where 'cereal' came from, cereal being a food product made of grain, a crop. She was also the reason the seasons existed; her daughter went to the underworld every six months to stay with her husband, and the plant-life began to wilt because Ceres missed her daughter quite a bit. Autumn was when Proserpina — or Persephone — left for the underworld; winter was when Ceres was consumed by her depression; spring was when Proserpina returned to her mother; and summer was when Ceres was full of joy.

Heri thought such an explanation was very sweet but wouldn't it have made more sense if Ceres stopped being so sad after a while when it became obvious Proserpina would always return to her? Of course, that would mean the seasons would be drastically changed again, throwing off the process of food production, so Heri supposed everyone was better off with Ceres continuing in her moping.

Another goddess that Heri found funny was Juventas — Hebe — either a goddess or personification of youth depending on what book Heri read. Her name was where 'juvenile' came from, and despite being a goddess of a pretty important part of a person's life, she had only been a sort of serving maid for the gods before she tripped and made a fool of herself, thus getting replaced by her father's boyfriend. (The last fact about Juventas' father's boyfriend was _not _a part of the school-edited reading of course.) One would think that one of the only two daughters that Jupiter and Juno had together would be treated better, but she was pretty much shoved off to the side until Hercules came along and married her.

Heri was bemused that the one who could be argued as her current patron goddess was married to her name-sake. She would have been miffed at being named after a boy if it wasn't for the fact that boys were often name after the Greek equivalent of the goddess Diana, Artemis.

Reading up on the Greco-Roman gods became a hobby of Heri's. Outside of being part of what she was learning in school, it was all very fascinating in its own right. She would find herself thinking how the individual gods would react to situations and what she'd do if she had their powers. It was a great distraction from the drudgery that was dealing with her relatives.

She became uneasy when she discovered stories that mentioned giants monsters with only one eye. The story of Odysseus and Polyphemus reminded her a bit of the fiasco at the supermarket. A cyclops; they had both blinded a cyclops. Of course, in Odysseus' case, he didn't kill it. She had tried to put the memory of running and fighting for her life out of her mind when it was obvious she was the only one that saw any of it, but finding written history — albeit history that was accepted as mythical — talking about the creature and its origins pooled dread in her belly.

No, no! She wasn't going to think about it! Odd things happened around her, yes, but believing that Gods and monsters existed was insane. She was going to put such thoughts completely out of her mind and focus on reality!

Still, even as she put the book away and threw herself into translating a parable about Apollo and the sun, Heri's perception of reality stretched to include things many considered impossible.

* * *

**H**eri loomed angrily over a bigger boy curled up on the ground at her feet, groaning in pain. He glared at her and tried to grab at her ankle, but she pulled the limb in question back and aimed a kick at the offending hand. Said hand was retracted with a shout and cradled to the boy's chest.

Keeping her snarling face pointed in his direction, Heri backed away from him. She wasn't going to let him get the jump on her again.

"I warned ya, O'Toole!" Heri growled. "I told ya that if you touched me again I'd tan yer sorry hide from 'ere to kingdom come! Did ya think I was kiddin'?"

Loosely surrounding the two who had just been fighting were students hanging out on the playground instead of going home immediately. It was after school on a Thursday and this had been the most exciting thing they had witnessed in weeks.

Heri had earned a bit of a reputation after it become blindingly obvious that Dudley couldn't do shit to intimidate her anymore. Hell, he hadn't been able to catch her once since first-year. The dimwits that thought themselves tough shit took her continued freedom from bullying as a challenge. They got it into their thick heads that successfully cowing her would make them the big boss of the school. Bunch of morons. They were in sodding _primary _school.

Only a few of them had gotten physical with her, the rest weren't cocky enough to actually beat on a girl. Even the few that tried physical intimidation like pushing her around and tugging on her hair had backed off when she socked them good in the gut. O'Toole was a dog-faced imbecile who was the only one that tried fighting with her.

The first time, she had twisted his wrist for trying to grab her and told a teacher on him. Heri had warned him that if he ever did such a thing again, she'd take him out proper. Obviously he thought he was a match for her. Now he was crippled with pain from Heri knocking him off his feet and nailing him in the groin. How pathetic.

"Violent bitch!" O'Toole groaned, scowling weakly at her.

Gasps of scandalised shock followed. These were kids from good families, words filthier than 'stupid' and 'bloody' were mortal sin to them.

Another kicked nailed him, this time in the shoulder.

"I asked if ya thought I was kiddin', not what yer mum shoulda named ya."

"Don't talk about my mum, Potter!"

"Who was talkin' about yer ruddy mum? I was talkin' about _you._ Or are yer ears as lousy as yer brain?"

"You―!"

Another kick, this time the forearm.

Heri heard titters and chattering. She sent a glare at the gawking crowd.

"Anyone else want some of this?"

The onlookers startled and bumped into one another in their haste to disperse.

From across the street, a figure had stood watching the entire confrontation.

* * *

**H**eri couldn't abide liars; she didn't have the patience to deal with divining the truth out of them. In her way of thinking, the world would be a far less complicated place to live if lying didn't exist. That was not to say that she didn't see the use of deception, but _speaking _falsehoods was a wretched habit.

Besides wanting to live in a simpler world, Heri hated liars for the fact that Dudley was the biggest liar she ever had the displeasure of knowing. He spewed lies so often, Heri would stop to double-check if he said the sky was blue. What was even worse was the fact that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon swallowed down all of Dudley's lies without a thought, believing him for no other reason than that he was their son. Heri thought that the fact that he was _their_ son was reason enough to not believe a word he said.

What's more, Dudley loved to tells lies about Heri. He told the lunch monitor that she stole another child's cupcake even with the frosting smeared on his cheeks. He told the teachers that she stole his homework to turn in even though the assignment in question was clearly written in her handwriting. He told his parents that she broke his toys even though she had never so much as touched of that she could live with. What she wouldn't accept was him calling her a liar when she denied his claim of her being the real reason he was sent home with a note.

A new student had still been fresh enough to the system to report to his teacher and parents that Dudley was bullying him. Dudley was only reprimanded at first, but the fact that someone told on him and received justice brought forth a slew of other children coming out of the wood-works to call Dudley out. The number of students alone, never mind the severity of what they were accusing him of, was enough to pin him down with several detentions and a note for his parents for a parent-teacher conference.

Once at home, Dudley — ever the deceptive one — gave his mother the note but immediately tacked on that the school had it all wrong and that it was actually _Heri _that had been bullying the other children, that Dudley had only been trying to stop her. When she refuted it he called her a liar. Such a claim had Heri's blood boiling.

"How dare you say such a thing?!" Heri shouted, her fists clenched tightly. She was filled with outrage that seemed bigger than her body. She had never been so angry before. "How dare you call me a liar when you don't even know how to make a true statement?!"

Petunia swelled in self-righteous indignity. She drew her son into her side as she snapped, "You dare call _my_ son a liar? As if a rotten brat like you could say anything against my little angel!"

Heri was too fed up with it all to be cowed by a shouting adult.

"You'd believe him if he told you they were cancelling Mondays! I'm not surprised you'd believe even though half the things he's in trouble for I couldn't possibly have done!"

"Like what? More assignment stealing and breaking things I'm sure!"

"_I _certainly couldn't gather up his stupid friends and pants a boy in the boys loo!" Heri jeered. "_I _certainly couldn't beat up on half the kids in our year and then threaten them to keep quiet!"

Heri glared harshly at her cousin who actually flinched under the look.

"How exactly just like a _stupid_ _boy! _I have never said anything before about you blaming me for all the horrible nonsense you get up to, Dudley Dursley, but I _will not_ be called a _LIAR!_"

"Keep your nasty mouth shut, girl!" Aunt Petunia shrieked.

At this time, likely the neighbours both next door and across the street heard their raised voices. Petunia Dursley was known for her shrill voice and Heri had no desire to hold herself back.

"I WILL _NOT!_" bellowed Heri. She stomped over to the door and threw it open.

"Go ask!" Heri gestured violently outside. "Go ask _anybody _ — neighbours, children, teachers — and they will _tell you _exactly what kind of child you've raised! Open your ruddy eyes and _see him _for who he actually is! Look past your stupid delusions!"

"Get back in this house and close that door!" Aunt Petunia shouted.

By this time, neighbours had actually come out of their houses to see what was going on. Eyes were on them in morbid fascination as they screamed at each other.

"No, _no, NO!_" Heri stamped her foot in outrage. This temper tantrum had been a long time coming. She threw every bit of her pent-up anger at the injustice dealt to her. She glared at her cousin and snarled at him, "You tell the truth _right now, _Dudley Dursley, or I'll tell _everyone _your dirty little secrets! Don't think I don't know about the times you stole money from your mum's purse!"

Aunt Petunia had quite enough of making a spectacle and bodily dragged Heri back into the house. Heri went kicking and screaming.

Suffice to say that was the last time anyone tried to call Heri a liar. Her aunt and uncle were too frightened of the neighbours thinking badly of them and Dudley was too traumatised by all his deceptions coming back to haunt him to even bother her anymore.

* * *

**T**he first time Heri spoke with the spirit that watched over her she was running around in the park, evading one of the stupid boys that tried to kiss her. It was after school on Friday and she had been told before she left for school that day that her aunt and uncle were taking Dudley to see the dentist in the afternoon, so Heri could do whatever the hell she wanted until they got back later. Her usual babysitter, Mrs. Figg, was too sick to watch her that day. She had taken the opportunity to play in the park without Dudley hogging all the good equipment.

It was four days until the end of the year pantomime that the Latin students would perform. They were put into groups to organise skits or songs about the gods and their feats as a final project, bonus points if they could speak Latin during parts of it. Ideally, they would entertain the younger students and the visiting parents as well as show how much they had learned. For the end of the show, Mrs. Frederic, the Latin teacher, had pulled fourteen students from all the participating years to portray the Twelve Olympians plus Vesta and Pluto. They would tell the audience about themselves and their relation to the others.

Heri had been selected to play Diana, and she honestly couldn't be more excited. She identified with Diana (what little girl wouldn't?) and had been over the moon (no pun intended) since she had been chosen. Part of the assignment was to create a costume as well, and she had raided Poundland* for cloth and sewing equipment and spent every extra minute she had working on it. She even fashioned herself a bow and arrow! When it came time for a dress rehearsal, Heri was a vision in her belted maiden tunic and sandals.

"Oh, my dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Frederic. "Aren't you just the cutest thing!"

Heri's outfit was the only one that wasn't store bought or just a bed-sheet tied up as a toga. The other girls looked pretty as well, but only Heri looked authentic.

That was when this nonsense with the boys started. They had gone from being too scared of her beating them up to have anything to do with her to bothering her almost constantly. It was like they collectively just realised that Heri was a girl! Granted, she never gave off a girly air, what with wearing Dudley's old clothes and getting into fights, but she didn't think she had looked like a boy.

The idiot that was chasing after her apparently thought differently.

"C'mon, Potter!" the twerp behind her called out. He was panting and looking peeved. "It's just a little peck! Think of it as practising for our roles!"

The moron trying to get a hold of her was a fifth-year student that was the bully of his year level. He had been chosen to play Apollo, god of the sun, because of his bright blond hair and loud attitude. He had been trying to prove himself by landing a kiss on her after she had whaled on him for flipping her skirt up. He was the only one that didn't give up for the day after she knocked him flat. As it was, Heri had tripped him trice, punched him four times, and led him in a merry chase around the park _two times_ already. He'd almost pinned her once when her glasses slid down her nose and blinded her!

He was determined, she'd give him that.

"I've told ya like a billion times, Miller!" Heri called over her shoulder, jumping over a log that the boy tripped over. "Apollo and Diana are brother 'n' sister! They wouldn't be kissin' at all!'

"Jupiter and Juno are brother and sister too! They still got married!"

Damn him. For all that he was an arrogant toe-rag, the boy paid attention in class.

Heri growled, "The answer's still NO!"

It took sharp turn at the sandbox and a convenient gaggle of geese waddling by before Heri could shake him by scaling the fence enclosing the tennis court and springing herself up onto a tree limb. By the time Miller caught up again, Heri was over two metres up a tree with no branches close enough to the ground for him to reach. She made faces at him at his displeasure.

Miller stamped his feet and fumed but eventually accepted defeat. At least for one day. Heri watched him snatch up his backpack and leave the park with great relief.

Thank the powers that be!

"That was quite a chase."

Heri jolted at the voice coming from behind her. She swivelled around on her branch and caught sight of a young woman standing under the shade of the tree. Heri sucked in a breath, her eyes widening. It was the spirit!

"H-hello?" said Heri.

The spirit regarded her calmly.

"Hello."

"Umm . . . Was there something I could help you with?"

"No." The answer was so resolute, Heri felt her self-confidence take a blow. "Rather, there's something _I _can help _you _with."

Heri floundered, flustered for some reason.

"Oh, erm . . . well, then ah—"

"Don't stammer," the spirit reprimanded, her lips pinching a bit in displeasure. "It's very unbecoming."

Heri's mouth snapped shut and a flush spread across her cheeks. Never had she felt so inept!

"That's better." The spirit beckoned to Heri. "Come down from there. Don't dawdle."

Heri obeyed without question; there was something about the young woman that commanded immediate compliance. She swung herself around the tree until she was hanging by her arms and then dropped to the ground, bending her knees to absorb the impact.

The strange older girl observed Heri as she straightened. Her eyes were keen, taking in every hidden detail.

"Yes," she said. "You're coming along very well considering."

Before Heri could question the statement, she held out her arm, hand reaching toward Heri's face.

"You were doing quite well until those glasses got in the way. Come here so I may remove your need of them."

The run-ins with creatures trying to kill her on top of bullies and admirers trying to coax her into their grasps made Heri wary of people that tried to touch her. She would have liked to take the being's word for it, but she was still wary.

"And how will you do that? How do I know you're not just going to kill me?"

The extended hand lowered a touch as a look of irritation mixed with approval crossed the young woman's face.

"While I commend your caution, if I wanted to kill you, you would be dead by now."

Fair enough. Considering all the time the spirit turned young lady spent watching Heri go about her business, it was believable that any harm meant would have been achieved already.

Girding up her resolve, Heri stepped within grabbing distance. She held her breath as her glasses were removed and a hand covered her eyes. She quickly exhaled and sucked in another breath with a sharp burning stabbed her eyes, shooting all the way to the back of her head. It was as if someone had shone the sun in her eyes and threw sand in her face at the same time only double! She slapped her hands over her eyes as soon as the other was withdrawn and keened at the pain of it.

"Covering them will bring you no relief," Heri heard the spirit in human form say. "Allowing them to adjust to the light would better suit your purpose."

Heri lowered her hands, doing as she was told. As the spirit had said, Heri's eyes adjusted quickly after one last sharp twinge. She blinked in the light incredulously. Everything was so clear! Not even with her glasses did she see details so sharply. It was as if the world had been dragged in closer as well as been painted more brightly.

"Is this how everyone else always sees?" Heri breathed in amazement, wondering at the beauty of the dust particles in the air.

"No," was the clipped reply. "I decided that regular human vision would be little improvement; if I was to cure you of your faulty eyes, I would ensure that there was true improvement."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. "What kind of vision do I have then?"

"That of a bird's. Birds of prey see around eight times farther away. Likely you see colours not visible to the mammalian eye."

"_Eight times?_"

"Only when you purposefully focus," the spirit added. "Otherwise your perception is the same as any other human. Focus on your foreground to recenter your vision."

Heri did as suggested and breathed out a sound of amazement as her vision reoriented itself to better than what she had with her glasses but not out of this world. She smiled at the figure before her.

"Thank you!"

Almost imperceptibly, the stern visage soften. There was something like a smile that played on those lips before the uncompromising expression fell back into place.

"It was less for your own benefit than my own. Watching you bumble about, barely seeing past your own nose was bothersome."

Heri's lips twisted into a self-depreciating grimace. She fluffed her hair and shrugged.

"All that same, thank you very much."

"Think no further on it."

The spirit turned and began to walk way.

"Isn't there something I could do in return?" Heri called after her.

The young woman paused.

"From now on, send your prayers and thanks to the gods of Olympus."

Without another word, she dissolved into air.

* * *

**T**he day of the performance*, Heri shone like the sun breaking through the clouds. Her group performed the story of Minerva and Arachne, the one about the creation of the spider and the folly of letting your pride guide you into foolish situations. Heri played the part of the narrator and one of the nymphs that admired Arachne's weaving.

The scene was set up with tables, chairs, lengths of cloth, and a bed-sheet stretched between two poles to act as a curtain. Heri stood on the outside of the curtain where the audience could see her. She stood in a bed-sheet fashioned into a toga like the other girls were wearing. Her sheet was green and she had glitter all over her visible skin to show she was a nymph.

"Long ago," said Heri. "There was a young girl, a shepherd's daughter, who started weaving at an early age."

Heri untied the sheet from the pole and stepped hurriedly to pull it aside, revealing a girl fussing over a large embroidery. The girl made large, exaggerated motions and held up the piece to admire it.

A pair of kids playing Arachne's parent entered and began to gush over the girl's work. Arachne preened under the praise and began to work harder, pulling out more and more lengths of decorated cloth from the table she had been sitting at.

"She became a great weaver. Her work was so well done, other girls from around the city came to see her at it —"

A trio of girls entered from the left, chattering about Arachne and her weaving.

"— Her work was so beautiful that even nymphs left their groves to admire her!"

From behind where Heri stood two more girls dressed like her made a show of whispering to each other, dragging Heri in as well when they reached her. The girls cooed and praised Arachne, going on and on about how lovely her weaving was.

"It's really amazing," said Heri, touching a length of cloth softly. "It's as if Minerva taught you herself!"

The other girls added their agreements.

The girl playing Arachne turned her nose up pointedly.

"As if I had to learn from anyone! I taught myself and any skill I have comes from me alone!"

The girls made cries of protest.

"Surely you have to thank Minerva!" cried an Asian girl with short hair. "She's the goddess of knowledge and skill! If she blessed you then that would be a wonderful thing!"

They went on in this vein, warning the girl to not speak so dismissively about Minerva. During this bit, a girl slipped off behind the curtain and put on a grey wig. When Arachne again said she was far better than anyone that learned from Minerva, the girl in the wig cut in.

"I think I know a lot after living so long," said the girl in a put-on elderly voice. "I suggest you don't talk such a way about the gods. It's all well and good to say you're better than any other human, but to say you're better than a power than controls the world isn't very smart!"

Once again Arachne dismissed the advice, actually getting rude as well.

"Keep your advice for those that ask for it!" Such a statement drew murmurs of admonishment from the crowd. "I'll stand by what I say; I'm not afraid! If Minerva has a problem with it, she can come here and challenge me herself!"

The challenge was met by the girl in the wig throwing off the grey hair and replacing it with luxurious brown. The crowd tittered.

The newly wigged girl straightened up importantly and said, "And here I am!"

"And so Arachne challenged Minerva again!" Heri chimed in, tripping lightly closer to the audience as she resumed her narrative. "She was extremely shocked but refused to take back what she had said!"

Minerva and Arachne glared at each other a moment before pulling out pieces of cloth and began working at them. As they 'worked' they made sounds of getting good ideas and excitement. The other girls drifted between the two, making sounds of admiration and whispering amongst themselves.

"Finished!" The two cried at the same time, holding their work in the air. They held it out to be looked over.

"Minerva made a piece about the contest she had with Neptune with the other gods watching them. Every person in the picture was lifelike and beautiful. It was perfect in every way!"

The girls oohed and ahhed over Minerva's piece, commenting on the people in it.

"Arachne on the other hand made a piece about the bad decisions Minerva's father, Jupiter, had made, mocking her and the gods. Everything was done up better than perfection, but it was still very rude."

The girls groaned in dismay as they looked at Arachne's work, shuffling with unease and giggling nervously.

"Minerva admitted that Arachne's work was better than hers but she wasn't about to let such disrespect go. She ripped up Arachne's canvas" — here Minerva stomped over and tore the cloth apart — "and then touched her forehead to make her feel the shame she should have felt at being so incredibly rude."

Arachne made a sound of horror and covered her face in shame, wailing. The other girls covered their ears and ran away at the noise. Then there was only Arachne, Minerva, and Heri still on the stage.

Minerva huffed and patted the other girl's back grudgingly.

"Minerva felt sorry for the girl," Heri continued. "But she wasn't about to let her off with a few minutes of well deserved guilt. To prevent her from hurting herself and to finish her punishment, Minerva turned Arachne into a spider!"

A black bundle was tossed over from off-stage and was caught by Minerva who shook it open and threw it over Arachne. The covered Arachne dropped a spider plushie to the floor as she rushed off stage. Minerva picked it up and showed the audience.

"Since then, the descendants of Arachne have been weaving the most beautiful of webs only for them to be destroyed later as punishment for Arachne's original mistake. You should never let your pride get the better of you. Spiders are properly called Arachnids for a reason!" She finished off by throwing out plastic spiders for the first couple of rows to catch. Shrieks of shock and joy greeted the action.

The audience clapped and cheered and the girls came back on stage to bow and pose for pictures. They then vacated the stage for the next skit, taking a rest behind a blocked off section. The next group took the stage without delay.

Skit after skit past. Stories about the discovery of fire, The Judgement of Paris, the creation of horses were rolled out. Songs were sung, children danced, and the younger children were properly entertained. Harry laughed and clapped along with everyone else, not even Dudley being a part of the fun and the Dursleys sitting in the crowd took away from it.

When it came time for the final part, Heri donned her Diana costume and entered as the three youngest goddess were introduced. The eldest six, Vesta, Ceres, Juno, Pluto, Neptune, and Jupiter had been introduced in the order that had been born in. Heri prowled in after Venus and Minerva, head held high, her bow and arrow at the ready. She wasn't anywhere near as tall as Diana was said to be, but she made up for it through force of personality.

"Ego Diana, dea venationis et lunae," said Heri, pointing her arrow at the ground. She saw the Latin teacher perk up out of the corner of her eye. Not many of the other kids had done more than stuck a few Latin words in their sentences. "I am Diana, goddess of the hunt and the moon. Filia sum deus Iupiter et titana Leto. I am the daughter of the god Jupiter and the titaness Leto."

Heri went on to describe her position and background. She made sure to stay in character as well, speaking proudly of how she convinced her father to let her stay unmarried forever and the adventures she had been on. She couldn't help but radiate the self-satisfaction Diana was known for because of the smugness she felt for how well she remembered her lines.

"Cultus mea est dura. Noviter venientes probatiores sunt in pugna. My followers are harsh and test newcomers in battle. Ut fieret sacerdos excelsorum, tecum pugnare usque ad mortem pontificis in duello. To become the high priest, you must battle the current high priest to the death!"

Heri played her part well and she knew it. It was written plainly in the way her fellow wannabe actors looked grudgingly impressed and the way Mrs. Frederic beamed at her from off stage.

She completed her address by whistling sharply as if she were calling to an animal and beckoned to the boys waiting for their turn.

"Venit hic, frater. Come on, Apollo, it's your turn now!"

She received a magnificent grade for the final project of course.

* * *

**H**eri was dressed in new clothes Aunt Petunia had bought for her. They weren't really new as they had been picked up at a thrift store, but they were certainly better than the potato sacks she had worn before. The neighbours that had children who went to school with Dudley and Heri had commented on how much more respectable she looked in clothes that actually fit her. Aunt Petunia had taken the comments as the neighbours thinking they were too poor to afford proper clothing, and had been spurred into outfitting Heri in clothes that hadn't belong to Dudley before.

Dressed in a blue pinafore dress over a grey button front and leggings, Heri could scarcely believe that the Privet Drive grapevine had actually done her a favour for one. It had increased the fervour of her admirers, true, but at least now no one thought she was a juvenile delinquent on sight.

On top of getting her new clothes, Aunt Petunia had nagged Uncle Vernon into letting her have Dudley's second bedroom since she didn't want Heri's new clothes to get ruined from staying in the cupboard under the stairs. Her relative's stinginess finally worked toward Heri's benefit.

Heri dug out her odd pocket watch and checked the time. It was ten minutes after school and she was only a third of the way back to the house. She had another twenty minutes before she absolutely needed to be back so she would have enough time to make prepare the veritable feast she was responsible for. Aunt Marge was arriving later that evening and the corpulent woman wasn't one to sit quietly if her food wasn't in front of her when she wanted it.

She muttered a prayer for the speed of Mercury or Hermes or whatever his name was (for some reason she preferred to think of them by their Greek names) and ran as fast as her legs could take her. Dodging other children and weaving through cars stopped at the traffic signs, Heri all but flew to her destination. If her legs had glowed briefly as she took her first running steps, she didn't notice.

* * *

**M**rs. Figg was the only person Heri knew of that was nut-house strange while still being a perfectly average human being. Every time Heri was sent over to be baby-sat, she felt as if the woman was on the edge of snapping and going postal. Heri always had her best behaviour on when she was Mrs. Figg, her paranoia wouldn't allow any less of her.

Maybe it was the cats, Heri thought, dodging a white-furred menace by the name of Snowy. Mrs. Figg was the stereotypical cat-lady with a dash of crazy thrown in. There were always at least one cat in the room no matter what room Heri entered. They were like a hive of horrific bees, always wandering about, ready to sink their pointy-parts into you at the slight provocation. And they were always watching. Those bloody cats watched with eyes far too intelligent for normal animals.

If it hadn't been for the fact that neither Mrs. Figg nor the cats had ever done her any harm beyond the occasional scratch, Heri would have been brandishing her monster-slaying box-cutter at the beasts and cutting them down before they could get a mew in.

Heri sat down gingerly on the sofa, sighing with resignation when another cat, Tibbles, leaped up and settled itself on her lap. There was no escape from them. She began to stroke its fur in the way she had seen Mrs. Figg do many times before. Apparently she was doing it correctly since the little beast started purring. She hoped it fell asleep soon as that was the only way she'd be able to remove it from her lap without it digging its claws into her clothes and ruining them.

Heri felt a tingle in her hands and she prayed for the cat to fall asleep. The purring became deeper before it slowly tapered off, Tibbles no longer awake. She gently lifted the cat from her lap and got up, looking at the hand that had been petting the animal. Putting animals to sleep just by petting them? Hell, yes.

Heri sized up the cats still wandering the house. Wasn't this a golden opportunity to practice something new?

* * *

**I**t was Harry's tenth birthday and she was grounded until next week. She hadn't been expecting anything considering how her relatives were, but being stuck inside without even chores to do was murder on her need to move.

Heri fiddled with her bronze box-cutter, sliding the blade in and out of its casing. She was in her room for the rest of the day for giving Aunt Marge's wretched dog a kick it well deserved. There had been a show of scolding her and ordering her to go away, but Heri was pretty certain that Aunt Petunia had sent her to her room to free her of Marge's presence, a reward for giving Ripper the sharp punt her aunt had been dreaming of giving it for years.

She was now sat on her bed, back to the wall, and staring out the window. It was such a lovely day out, shame that it was polluted with Marge's boorish presence. The blade slipped out with a _s__chlick _at the thought.

Thoughts of Uncle Vernon's repellent sister brought forth thoughts on that monster dog Heri had wasted earlier that week. The thing had been the size of an Irish Wolfhound and had two heads! The only reason she hadn't died was sheer dumb luck; the thing had landed awkwardly as it pounced on her and ended up busting its paw. In the moment it had been whining in pain, Heri had slashed it at the base where the two heads met. It had exploded in a shower of dust, leaving behind fangs the size of her fingers.

Heri lifted her hand to stroke the chain of the necklace she had made with the fangs. She didn't know what else to do with them. She figured they could stay on her person as a reminder that life was fragile.

With a sigh, Heri flung her box-cutter at the dartboard Dudley had dumped in the room years ago when he lost all the darts. The blade struck on the outer ring. Heri frowned. Her aim wasn't nearly as good as she would have liked.

A wiggle of her fingers and sharp mental command had the box-cutter return to her hand handle-first. She caught it and flung it back immediately. Hmm, better, but still in the outer ring.

As she was about to call the box-cutter to her again, a movement from beyond her window caught her eye. There, sitting on a branch in the tree on the neighbour's side of the fence was an owl. How odd, she had never seen a wild owl before. Weren't they nocturnal? Heri's eyes sharpened automatically, getting a closer look at the bird. Her brain short circuited at the unbelievable sight.

The owl was the size of a house cat with strange reddish-brown plumage. Its beak was long and golden, and it had great amber eyes. That wasn't the odd part though. It appeared to be eating the tail of a cat and it had two sets of legs. It was also looking right at her.

The bizarre bird and Heri locked gazes for a long moment. It didn't try to attack her like all the other supernatural beasts Heri had dealt with before, it simply sat there, eating its cat.

Without any fuss, Heri turned back to her target practice. She had seen enough to know that she didn't want to ask.

* * *

**T**he bird continued to show up at random. Heri had caught sight of it perching in trees at her school, roosting on the roof of Mrs. Figg's house, and tearing into something while she tended to the garden. She would have been more bothered by the thing following her if it wasn't for the fact that it hadn't once been aggressive toward her.

What's more, it changed species of bird whenever it showed up. It had been an owl a few times more, but it was sometimes a pigeon, sometimes a crow, occasionally duck, and once even a woodpecker. The only reason she knew it was still the same bird was because of its glowing amber eyes, golden beak, and four legs no matter what form it took.

"Is there a reason you're following me?" Heri asked it.

It had been three weeks since she first saw it and it had wandered in and out of her life like a stray cat testing out a place to stay. Until she knew what it wanted, she didn't want it deciding that it wanted to stick around.

The bird blinked and cocked its head at her. Today it was a cuckoo and it had been serenading her with "Ooh-woo" as she did her Literature homework in the park. If it had been any other cuckoo, Heri would have tuned it out automatically, but this one was perched on her table and crooning loudly at her to annoy her, she just knew it.

"Ooh-woo," it cooed again.

Heri sighed and slammed her book shut.

"Is that so?"

She'd have to do it later while it was off wherever it was when it wasn't hanging around her.

"Ooh-woo."

"If that's your final answer, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you go play somewhere else. This worksheet's due first thing tomorrow and you're being very distracting."

"Ooh-woo."

She got to her feet.

"Fine then! You stay here, I'll go finish my assignments up somewhere else. Have a good day."

She stuffed her books back into her bag and began to walked off.

"Ooh-woo."

Her mind might've been playing tricks on her, but Heri could have sworn that the blasted bird sounded forlorn.

She cursed her sentimentality and turned back to the bird. Sure enough, its head was tucked into its shoulders. She sighed again.

"Look, it's not that I don't like you around but I really to get my homework finished. I'm doing someone else's as well and I need the money to pay for a library book Dudley destroyed. If you want to hang out, come again some time after tomorrow."

The bird visibly perked.

"Ooh-woo!"

* * *

"**D**UDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"

Heri was at the zoo with the Dursley's and Piers Polkiss to celebrate Dudley's birthday. Normally she wouldn't have been brought along, but Mrs. Figg had broken her leg and wasn't in any state to watch Heri.

She had been brought along under strict orders from Uncle Vernon to behave as if she wasn't 'an unnatural aberration that blights mankind.' She had agreed only because she hadn't known her uncle knew words bigger than three syllables. She still gave him a hell of an itch in an indelicate place though.

At this point, they had already gone through the rest of the exhibits and stopped for lunch. The reptile house was the last stop before they would pack it in and call a day. Everything was winding down when Heri fell into a conversation with a boa constrictor. All chances of leaving peacefully were shot to hell with Polkiss' shout.

Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, shoving Heri aside.

Caught by surprise, Heri fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leaped back with howls of horror. Heri sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished! The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

As the snake slithered past her, Heri heard it hiss lowly, _§__Brazil, here I come . . . Thanksss, amiga.__§_

The look on her uncle's face when Piers mentioned that Heri had been talking to the snake boded nothing good. If only she hadn't thought it rude to ignore the snake when it proved it understood her; she never thought civility would be her downfall. Though she couldn't prove it, she was pretty sure someone up there was laughing at her.

* * *

**H**eri never received mail. Heri had never had a desire to receive mail. She didn't know anyone that would be in a position to send her anything, and even if there had been someone she wouldn't have had the patience to deal with any kind of communication that took longer than the span of a phone call. These were just some of the simple, insignificant facts of her life.

When Heri was sent to get the mail by her uncle, she didn't waste any time in bringing them to him without a second glance. No doubt they were all bills and advertisements. She returned to the maintenance of the pancakes without pause. This was probably why she had no idea why she and Dudley were rushed out of the kitchen not a minute later as if there was a bomb in the room.

In the days after, when letters came pouring and Uncle Vernon was on the edge of a mental breakdown, Heri would wonder if maybe she should have taken a peek at the mail pile before handing it over. It was strange that her lack of curiosity was now backfiring on her after all these years.

* * *

**AN: **Here are those definitions/notes I promised you:

1\. The winged snakes were juvenile drakones, animals sacred to Demeter. Her chariot was drawn by a pair of them, and she uses them as guards and attendants.

2\. **Poundland** is the equivalent of a dollar store. The company wasn't founded until the 1990s but for the sake of this story, let's just pretend otherwise.

5\. The elementary school I went to did something similar to what I have St. Grogory's doing. We had Latin from fourth grade to sixth grade (ten years old to twelve) and put on shows at the end of the year to demonstrate what we learned. I'm not sure how uncommon that is or if it's uncommon at all but I'm certain it's not a typical part of American education.

6\. The two headed dog is called an orthrus. It's related to the cerberus in that the original Orthrus was Cerberus' brother. Incidentally, Orthrus also had a run-in with Hercules but unlike Cerberbus, Orthrus didn't survive the encounter.

7\. The strange owl is called a strix or strige. It's known to eat flesh and blood. They originate from cannibals cursed by the gods (specifically Hermes under Zeus' orders) into bird form as punishment. There's not a lot of mythology about them.


	2. Before Revelation pt 1

**AN: **Someone told me no parent would name their daughter Herakles (pronounced HAIR-ah-KLEES). I would have answered in PM but they used anonymous reviewing. Herakles literally translates to 'glory of Hera' and that doesn't sound exceedingly boyish to me so I'm not sure why I wouldn't be able to name a girl that. I thought of it the same way as naming a boy Artemis. I'm not going to change it but I was wondering if the name threw anyone else off.

* * *

**Chapter Two: Before Revelation pt. 1**

* * *

**H**eri wasn't sure if Hagrid was blind or if four-legged owls were just a normal wizarding thing. Judging by the lack of extra appendages on the other owls she saw in the pet shop window, she was guessing not.

She gave the bothersome bird a dead-eyed look, one that it responded to with a cheery chuff. There was no question as to what bird this was despite the fact that instead of the nightmare-inducing Great Grey it had been the first time they saw each other, it was currently a cuddly Snowy; the golden beak and extra legs gave it away. The only questions now were why no one else seemed to notice the oddness of the owl, and how in the nine circles of Dante's inferno had it managed to be in that particular pet shop and gotten itself purchased by the exact person meaning to buy a pet for Heri.

"D'ye . . ." said Hagrid hesitantly. "D'ye not like it then?"

He sounded disappointed.

Heri shook her head and craned her head back to look at him earnestly. It would not do to hurt the kindest person she had ever met.

"It's not that at all, sir! I was just shocked that you got me exactly what I've been wanting to get since we got here! How did you know I wanted an owl, sir? It even looks exactly like how I imagined!"

The owl puffed up importantly as Hagrid beamed. As Hagrid went on about the uses of owls and the handling of them, Heri shot it an oppressive look which it ignored by preening its wings haughtily. Cheeky thing; they were going to have a _talk _when she found the time, preferably when she wouldn't burn Hagrid's ears with the scolding she was planning on giving it.

Since Hagrid had found them hiding out on that rock in the middle of the sea, Heri had found herself tossed up into another whirlwind of the phantasmagoria that was apparently inherent to her reality. She had tried to be disbelieving when presented with the existence of magic — especially when her aunt and uncle were all but frothing at the mouth to deny any such thing — but _really_, discovering that there was a global population of people as reality-distorting as herself was ultimately unsurprising despite how relieving it was. Heri liked to be different, but she hadn't really thought she was the only one in the world with her powers; it was statistically improbable. When she was convinced Hagrid was not another monster aiming to do her in, Heri easily allowed him to introduce her to the world she had been born into.

Diagon Alley was every vivid dream, every unabashed noise, every unapologetic eccentricity Heri had never allowed herself to indulge in. It was all bright colours and unending movement, singular modes of dressing and unembarrassed personality. It was as if every misfit in the country was gathered for a convention to celebrate the unusual. Taking in the untroubled outspokenness of the people carrying on, Heri understood why her relatives were so against magic. To the neurotically 'normal' like the Dursleys, wizards represented everything they despised; they were plainly outcasts and comfortable with being so. Nothing was more unnerving to the unbendingly conventional than unashamed oddballs!

The two of them had done a run of the shops as soon as Heri had gotten money from Gringotts. She had nearly swooned at the sight of all those coins and had all but walked on air as they bought school supplies. She had never had enough money to buy anything bigger than a deluxe pack of notebooks before and she was thrilled by being able to get cool things like equipment to make potions and books on doing magic.

Heri had just come out of Ollivander's wand shop with her new wand. ("Holly and Phoenix feather, a volatile combination," Mr. Ollivander had said. "That the handle is made of pomegranate makes me wonder what sort of greatness will be wrought at your hand.") A wand had been the last thing on her shopping list and she had to admit that she was relieved to be finished despite the fact that it had been a marvellous way to spend the day. Hagrid and she had been headed for dinner when he popped into Eeylops' Owl Emporium to buy Heri a birthday present. Now she was having a stare-down with the most nervy bird likely in existence.

"We ought to get a good, fillin' meal at the Leaky Cauldron," said Hagrid, leading Heri toward the way they had originally entered the shopping district. He seemed to take the staring contest between owl and owner as a bonding exercise. "Not as fancy as what we could get down Vertic but I reckon it's a bit more homey."

"That sounds wonderful," Heri replied. Her eyes had yet to leave the owl's.

"Aye, no place more down to earth'n the Leaky. What're yeh gon' name yer owl then?"

Heri did not look up.

"I'll have to think about it. Something that suits its personality of course."

* * *

**H**eri glanced up from the History of Magic book she had been flipping through after the third time she had read it through.

"How about Irmintrude? Or maybe Umbertio?"

If birds could look incredulous, the shapeshifting bird had the expression nailed.

Heri had been confined to her room since she had returned to Privet Drive and there was little else for her to do besides reading her textbooks. After immersing herself in the feats of the witches and wizards of her History text, she decided that the book would be an excellent place to find a name for her owl. For the past ten minutes she had tossed out names that she thought really communicated how she perceived the cheeky creature.

"No? How do you feel about Englegaard? Englegaard the Physician discovered the possibility of substituting avocado for chicken fat in weight-gain potions. Apparently it was hard to get a hold of avocado back then and chicken fat was the best thing ever before sliced bread."

The owl barked reproachfully.

"Tch, so picky!" Heri flicked back a few pages. "How about Herderpicus? He's the reason why modern wand-safety regulations recommend not putting your wand down your shorts."

An affronted gurgling sound.

"Grimhildr? That's the male variation of the name of Grimhilde the Wicked, the tyrannical dowager-queen of an extinct Germanic kingdom. She ruled her husband's kingdom after he died and tried to kill off the crown princess when Her Highness grew to be more beautiful than Her Majesty. I'm guessing that's where the story of Snow White came from."

The owl responded with a grumbling grunt.

"Hogarth? I'm not sure what that means but Hogarth of Heywood made contact with a tribe of giants and lived with them during the Giant Wars."

A bark of disapproval.

"Swims Like a Flailing Chipmunk? He was a chap native to the Americas that used the most unnecessary and ineffective way to cross over to England from the colonies."

Unhappy hoot.

"Hogsqueal?"

"Hoot."

"Glgrdsklechhh?"

"Hoot!"

"Bon'Quiqui?

A fit of barks accented by flapping wings.

"Alright, I admit I made that last one up." Heri shrugged. "You know this would be a lot easier if you'd tell me if you're male or female."

The owl ruffled its feathers with indignity.

"None of that. I'm no expert on owls, I can't be expected to know your gender just by looking at you. Bark once for boy and twice for girl."

The blasted thing barked three times.

Heri huffed.

"And what is that supposed to mean? Are you a hermaphrodite or transgendered or something?"

She received a head bobble. Great. 'Cause that really answered her question.

"Flap a wing once for no and twice for yes. Are you a hermaphrodite?"

One flap.

"So you're transgendered?" Could animals even do that?

Two flaps.

"Erm, okay . . ." said Heri hesitantly. "How do you even know what that means? Actually, you know what? Never mind. Are you a male in a female body?"

One flap.

"Oh, so you're male in body and female in mind."

Two flaps.

"I have to say, you're the oddest bird I've met, never mind the shapeshifting and extra legs part. Should I assume you'd prefer a girl name then?"

She got a chipper chuff sound in response.

"Alright then." Heri opened the appendix of the book and traced down the list of famous witches. Suggesting hideous names was all fine and good in jest, but it was time to find a proper name. She called out a few names of witches that later went on to be sainted by the Catholic Church but none of the appealed to the fussy avian.

Heri was beginning to get irritated.

"What about Hedwig? It means female warrior. Saint Hedwig of Andechs was the Duchess of Silesia and High Duchess consort of Poland. She's the patron saint of orphans."

The proud bird appeared to think on it for a moment. Just as Heri was about to suggest another name, the white owl crooned happily.

Heri cracked a smile.

"Should I take that as a yes?" At the continued cooing, she said, "Good choice. I think it's a very pretty name. Good thing for you too because if you took any longer, I would have given it up as a bad job and just pinned you with Bon'Quiqui."

The growly sound Heri got in response told her exactly what Hedwig thought of such a thing.

"I beg your pardon, Your Eminence," said Heri, rolling her eyes. She set the history book to the side and picked up another book for a different class. "Now that we're done with your naming ceremony maybe we could concentrate on learning these constellations for Astronomy. Your assistance will be invaluable of course."

* * *

**I**n the early morning on the first of September, Heri got herself on a train headed to London. She had decided against asking her uncle for a ride to King's Cross since he was still touchy after the scare on the Hut-on-the-Rock wherein Hagrid had given Dudley a pig's tail. She had tried to make it up to them by removing the tail but none of them trusted her. They might have been taking Dudley to London that day to get the tail removed, but they certainly weren't willing to take Heri along with them.

Hedwig was roosting in Heri's hair in the form of a bush-warbler. She wasn't willing to spend the trip stuck in a cage so had decided that part-timing it as an ornament was her best bet. Heri was fortunate that Hedwig's colouring was unobtrusive at the time or else she would have gotten stares for having a bird on her head. Heri had gotten a few looks for being a little girl riding the train alone but thankfully there were no child-predators around to creep on her. The ride to King's Cross was pleasantly uneventful.

She had a bit of a panic when she realised she didn't know how to get onto the Platform. Hagrid, the lovable giant, hadn't mentioned anything about it beyond making certain she went to Platform 9 ¾. She was holding herself back from a crying jag at a bench near the pillar between Platforms 9 and 10 when she noticed a pack of redheads behaving unusually at the pillar. One by one, the family charged at the pillar and disappeared into it instead of crashing.

Heri's mouth dropped open in shock. How was no one else seeing this! A quick glance around showed that no one else present noticed anything strange. Was this more of the Muggle-repelling Hagrid had told her about, magic to keep nonmagicals from noticing anything odd?

Heri watched the remaining redheads with sharpened eyes. If she was going to manage doing the same, she was going to have to make sure she did it right. She took them in with all the gravity of Atlas carrying the sky.

It turned out to be a very simple thing. There were no special words and motions for it, she just had to walk through without making any fuss of it. With time to spare, she made it onto the Platform while families and parents were still milling around.

Heri felt a twinge in her chest as she took in the happy families and excited children. She wished . . . well, it didn't really matter what she wished, did it? It wasn't going to change the fact that she wasn't a part of the cheery, homey scene. There was no one there to see her off to school and wish her well.

A shudder of warmth spread up her chest from her belly. She stiffened and her eyes darted about. That was—! Heri's eyes landed a figure standing discreetly off to the side at the far-side of the train. Youthful, dark-haired, glacial expression: it was her guardian apparition!

The two of them took in the sight of each other impassively. When Heri thought the being would do nothing more than watch as usual, the being lifted a hand and tilted her head in a formal sign of greeting. Heri couldn't restrain the smile that lifted her lips. She lifted her hand as well and waved happily. At the show of her good-cheer, Hedwig hopped down to Heri's shoulder and nuzzled her, making her feel even better. She supposed she wasn't so alone after all.

Heri hopped onto the train as soon as the whistle blew for the last call. Her luggage was in her space-expanded satchel so she immediately set off to find a compartment. Most of them already had people in them, many of the people looking like the sort that she doubted she'd get on with. Too crowded, too noisy, too obnoxious looking . . . What did she have to do to find laid-back people that wouldn't expect her to interact with them, or better yet, an empty compartment?

Heri was considering somehow getting on the roof and spending the rest of the trip up there where she caught a glimpse of an uncrowded compartment with even-keel looking older students talking within. This was the first promising compartment she found since she got on the train. Maybe they'd be willing to put up with a first-year not looking to be a bother? One way to tell.

Heri patted Hedwig on the head and slid the door open.

* * *

**M**arcus Flint was a well-known, intimidating presence among the students of Hogwarts. He had arrived as tall as many of the third-year boys and had continued to grow at an alarming rate, reaching 6 feet 4 inches at fifteen, and promising to grow larger still. Unlike the lanky Weasley boys, Marcus filled out his height with muscle as well, and he used his bulk to great effectiveness while massacring the opposition on the Quidditch pitch as well as parting the crowds of herbivores like they were the Red Sea. With his buddies, Graham Montague and Lucian Bole — both intimidating as well — they were the current terrors of Slytherin House.

Marcus wasn't what anyone would call handsome. He wasn't ugly if evaluated fairly, but his teeth put one in the mind of a flesh-eating monster, his eyes were cold and narrow, and his face just naturally settled into provoking leer. He had all the charms of a muzzled attack-dog and he was perfectly fine with it. Graham was just as frightening even though Lucian actually had a few girls hooked on his stupid 'bad-boy' routine.

It was all this against him that had him surprised by the door of his usual compartment opening. Marcus and his friends had all but pissed on the door when they claimed this particular compartment back in his first year, scaring off anyone stupid enough to try to do something about it. Since then, rare was the person that voluntarily came around, usually ignorant first-years that didn't know to keep away. How odd, a quick glimpse of their snarly faces usually made quick work of the uninitiated.

It indeed appeared to be a first-year, a girl, and possibly muggleborn from the way she was dressed, a denim dress that ended above her knees and one of those sissy cardigan things. She looked like she was half dandelion or maybe sheep with how ridiculously fluffy her messy hair was. She was a titchy thing, all skinny limbs and big eyes, she looked like she wouldn't even come up to his collar bone. She kind of reminded Marcus of baby deer.

Marcus was struck with the urge to get to his feet, and he tensed at the odd impulse. He had never felt the need to stand at attention for anyone before and he certainly wasn't going to start doing so for a slip of a girl four years his junior no matter what his instincts told him. If Marcus' friends felt the same compulsion, they ignored it as well, aggressive sneers on their faces.

The girl took one tentative step in before she stopped flat and just stared at them, little mouth forming an 'o.' Her face was surprisingly solemn despite her wide-eyed look.

Graham grunted, "The hell do you want?"

Graham somehow managed to be even less charming that Marcus. He was as burly as a bear with thick arms the size of ham legs. When he hit his growth spurt the year before, he had gone from stocky to outright bulky.

The girl didn't answer though her eyes did somehow manage to grow ever larger.

"Didn't you hear him, runt?" said Lucian, crossing his arms and giving the girl a flat look. "What the _fuck _do you want?"

The girl seemed to not hear the sandy-haired boy at all, her eyes zeroing in on Marcus and not looking away. She hadn't even blinked once since she got here! Weird.

Lucian ruffled. He hated being ignored. Menace entered his tone.

"I _said_—"

"— sit here?"

Marcus frowned harder.

"What?"

The girl had just said something but it wasn't much louder than a breath.

"Sit here," the girl repeated. Her cheeks pinkened though her unblinking gaze didn't waver. "Can I?"

The three boys looked at each other. No one else had ever asked to stay after it had been made so abundantly clear that extras were not welcomed. Hell, no ignorant firstie had even wanted to come any closer after they got a proper look at them.

"Get lost, kid," sneered Marcus, leaning back against the seat. "Bugger off somewhere else before we make you regret it."

"'s crowded," she said, not looking bothered at Marcus' words. "An' loud. Please, can I sit? I won't make trouble."

Well, she certainly had a gift for brevity. He'd never met a less chatty girl in his life.

"Why the soddin' hell would you even want to?" asked Graham, a mulish look on his face. "Go fuck around with the other firsties, why don't ya?"

The girl's face hadn't changed beyond her eyes widening before, but it somehow now appear stony and determined.

"Wanna sit here," she insisted. "Please."

"Get lost!" Lucian jeered.

"_Please_."

Marcus started, "Kid—"

"_Pleeeaase._"

Marcus made a sound of annoyance.

"Oh, why the ruddy hell not?" he said, to the bother of his friends. He jerked his head in acquiescence. "Knock yourself out, midget."

The girl's face lit up, a bright expression Marcus had never seen directed at him. Without hesitation, she scurried from the doorway and climbed into the spot right next to Marcus, her face open and wondering. The bag she had slung across her shoulder was set beside her as she huddled up to him.

"The hell?" Marcus took in the girl all but clinging to his arm.

His friends snickered at his expression.

"I'm Heri," she said, peering up at him, finally blinking.

"Marcus Flint," Marcus replied. "Now back off before I break your face in."

Proving herself as the most contrary creature in existence, the girl actually scooted closer and wrapped her skinny arms around his forearm. She held on tightly and gazed at him with a serious expression he couldn't take seriously considering she was about as threatening as dairy-free milk.

"I like you," she declared. "When I grow up, let's get married."

There was disbelieving silence between the three boys.

"She's insane," Lucian decided at last. "It's the only thing that makes sense."

"I'm not!" the girl huffed, the beginning of a pout on her lips.

In a fit of insanity, Marcus thought the look was quite cute on her. He immediately crushed such a thought of course.

"The hell you're not!" Lucian retorted. "Why else would you be proposing to the owner of this mug?"

She gained a stubborn look, pulling Marcus' arm into her chest.

"He's big, and strong, and can keep me all safe. It doesn't matter if he's pretty or not; being pretty will be _my_ job."

Marcus tried to yank his arm back but ended up dragging the girl along with it. Damned obstinate chit.

"What about all that gender equality thing girls are always harping on about?" Lucian asked, too amused to be annoyed any longer. "'I don't need any man!' Or whatever? My sisters won't shut up about it."

"Mine too," said Graham.

The girl glowered.

"Didn't say I needed him. Said I _want_ him. Any girl that saying she doesn't want to be taken care of is a liar."

"Who cares about all that?" bellowed Marcus. He glowered at the girl hanging onto him like a limpet. "Save your proposals for someone else; I'm not interested in flat-chested little brats that don't even know how to hold their wands yet! You want a boyfriend? Go ask someone closer to your own age!"

She frowned and looked at her chest. She was still as flat as a boy.

"I'll grow," she said earnestly. "I'm not asking for right now, I want you for when I grow up."

"_Fuck off,_" Marcus growled.

The opinionated little bitch pinned him with a dewy-eyed look that put baby unicorns to shame.

"Don't send me away," she said. "I just wanna stay with _you._"

Well, _hell_. How was he supposed to be a bastard when she said things like that? That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

Marcus groaned heavily and rubbed his face with his free hand.

"_Soddin', fuckin'_ . . . Whatever," he said finally. "Just sit there and keep your trap _shut_ and you can stay."

Lucian and Graham's amused expressions told Marcus exactly what they thought of him bending to the whims of an eleven year old. Well, _fuck them. I_f they had the dubious pleasure of the girl's insistent attentions, they'd learn to compromise as well.

The three boys fell back into their previous conversation, purposefully overlooking their newest addition. With luck, the girl would get distracted by something at school before too long.

* * *

**H**eri watched the rest of the Sorting politely from her seat at the Hufflepuff table. She thought it was rather unmannerly of them to pause the process for so long just to get a good amount of gaping at her in. Honestly, there were other people to get situated and hungry people waiting for their dinner; gawking at celebrities could be put on hold for later.

She had had an interesting conversation with the Sorting Hat. It said things like "Haven't had one like _you _in a while!" and "Hmmm, two parts of your nature are very contradicting." Harry hadn't understood why such a simple thing as deciding her most defining character trait was taking so long and had prayed to Janus, god of decision-making, for the Hat to make its choice swiftly.

"Oh-ho!" the Hat had chortled. "You give veneration to a pantheon of gods accepted as mythology. Now what does that say about you?"

Heri had frowned. She didn't care much either way what was thought to be true or false, especially concerning where she sent her prayers, since _she _had plenty of reason to believe. Hadn't her guardian spirit told her to send her requests for divine intervention and thanks to Olympus? She wasn't about to be a good-for-nothing ingrate and deny such a simple request from someone who had always been kind to her!

"Ah, I see now. You are steadfast in your convictions and loyalties. Such strength of character to follow through on your word might have sent you to Gryffindor, but I can tell now that you'll be best served in HUFFLEPUFF!"

Since then, Heri had been caught up in the process of politely convincing her new House mates that they were all better off paying attention to the unsorted first-years. So far, she had average results.

She smile awkwardly at the overenthusiastic brunette talking her ear off, and tilted her head as a sign that she was listening. Really, Heri didn't know what to say in response to the girl chattering on a mile a minute at her, but thankfully only the barest hint of attention was required to appease the other girl, Megan Jones.

"Have mercy, Jones," griped a blond boy across the table from Heri. "You might not care about the Sorting but some of us are trying to pay attention."

Jones flushed angrily.

"And who are you to tell me what to do?" she snapped.

The boy gave her a flat look.

"Zacharias Smith of the Smith family that can trace their lineage back to the time of the Founders. Now close your mouth and give the rest of us a bit of courtesy."

Heri patted Jones arm to comfort the other girl as she swelled with offence. Heri shrugged and rolled her eyes to show Jones there was no point in being angry. They shared an embarrassed giggle.

The Sorting dragged on, the remaining students seemingly trying to follow Heri's lead by taking forever to be placed. When 'Zabini, Blaise' was finally put in Slytherin, Heri almost breathed a sigh of relief. (_Almost_. She might have hurt Jones' feelings if she had.) A kingly feast appeared on the table before them and was tucked into with great gusto. She hadn't eaten anything that day besides a few pasties on the train, and that had been half a day ago.

As they ate, Heri was bombarded with questions. What's it like being Heri Potter? (Well enough she supposed; she had never known any other way of being.) Why had she been living in hiding? (She hadn't known she had been.) Where had she been living? (Really none of their business.) Could they get a look at her scar? (Weird but okay.) Did she really wrestle a troll when she was eight? (She didn't remember any troll, but there _had _ been a cyclops.) Why was she attending school when she was already so powerful? (Powerful or not, turning down a quality education would be short-sighted.) Would she take a picture and autograph it for them? (Well, if they really wanted to . . .)

It was overwhelming. Hagrid had explained it to her that she was famous, but Heri hadn't realised that it was more superhero famous than passing oddity famous. She had expected "Hey, isn't that the girl that survived the Killing Curse? How weird!" not "OH, MY GOD! It's the girl that survived the Killing Curse! Somebody call my mum!" Well, Heri supposed the fuss was mainly because Voldemort had exploded into dust as well when he was trying to kill her; now that she thought more about it, that was likely the main reason. Still, people paying homage to her for her amazing talent in not dying was bewildering.

Going to bed later that night, Heri hoped all the fuss would blow over after a few days. Surely after the others see how unexciting she really was they would move on.

* * *

**T**wo weeks later — during a Transfiguration lesson wherein she had transfigured her matchstick into a needle on the first try and earned Hufflepuff twenty points — Heri realised that the attention she was receiving wasn't going to be fading any time soon.

* * *

**Z**acharias Smith wasn't sure how he felt about Heri Potter. On one hand, she was a pleasant girl that he got on with better than he would have expected, what with his distaste for most of the girls he grew up with. She also brought pride to Hufflepuff for housing the Girl Who Lived. On the other hand, he had been expecting to be the most important student in their year, what with him being a descendant of Helga Hufflepuff herself as well as being a son of a goddess (which goddess he didn't know yet since his father said that he was to find out when she revealed herself to him). It was true that he wasn't allowed to let anyone but the other children of divine descent know about his heritage, but he had expected to at least be able to comfort himself knowing he was the most unique of the first-years. He had forgotten that Heri Potter was his age.

When he had set sights on her, Zacharias knew that there was something about her. Others might have attributed it to charisma or her magical prowess shining through, but he knew there was more to it than that. Even before her name had been revealed, eyes had been on her. She was short but she felt like the tallest among them; she didn't make a spectacle of herself but they were all aware of her. Zacharias had never met someone with such presence before, not at that age.

"I feel like I need to stand whenever she enters a room," said Ernie Macmillan, a legacy of Clio, the Muse of History. Zacharias and Ernie had known each other since their diaper days. Ernie had noticed the same thing as Zacharias about Potter. "It would feel like ignoring . . . I dunno, the Minister maybe, if I didn't."

It was like that for everyone, Zacharias had noticed. They would snap to attention whenever Potter appeared, straightening as if they were in the presence of royalty. Was it an instinctive reaction to her fame, or her family's importance maybe? He just couldn't understand it.

Heri Potter was all quiet self-confidence wrapped in a mannerly outer-shell. She had the whole of Hufflepuff eating out of her hands the moment she sat down and even now, after the novelty had faded a bit, they still flocked to her like lambs to their shepherd. He didn't think he'd ever seen her without at least two other people hanging around beside her, honestly enjoying her presence beyond the giddiness of talking to someone famous. He didn't know how she did it; mutinously, he wondered if she had somehow been manufactured by some higher power out to torment him.

It was as if she could do no wrong! Zacharias was not ashamed to admit that he was part of the herd that accompanied Potter almost everywhere, it was the habit of Hufflepuffs to travel in packs, so it was only good sense that he be part of the most popular. He saw as she divvied up her attention in such a way that no one was overlooked, but whoever currently had her attention was given the full of it. He saw her take careful notes in class that she later shared without compunction. He had sat in the row behind her as she succeeded in transfiguring the matchstick before even the Ravenclaws.

If all that wasn't enough, she had somehow managed to wriggle herself into the dubious regards of the Slytherin upperclassmen, specifically the fourth and fifth years. When Potter had made a beeline to the Slytherin table the morning of the first day of school, Zacharias had thought she was completely mad, a sentiment others of their House seem to agree with when they saw exactly who it was Potter was seeking out. Zacharias had heard horror stories from his older friends about Marcus Flint and his cronies, none of which were flattering.

Potter had all but climbed into Flint's lap, cuddling up next to him and sparkling up at him with an expression of blatant adoration. There had been a moment in which no one even breathed, too struck by the little girl curling around the terrifying fifth-year as if he was a teddy-bear. Then Flint heaved a resigned sigh and returned to his eating. His bullying friends guffawed hideously but made no motion to remove Potter, one of them even shoving a plate in her direction when she made no movement to feed herself. It was completely baffling.

Later, when being interrogated about it, Potter told them that she had met Flint, Bole, and Montague on the train, and she had found them to be perfectly agreeable company. Zacharias wondered if she would eventually wander back to the dorms with a cerberus trailing behind her and tell them that she had found it abandoned in a box and that she didn't have the heart to leave such a sweet creature to fend for itself.

* * *

**H**eri had a following. It was to be expected, she supposed. Still, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with them. She might have called them her friends if it hadn't been for the blatant hero-worship they exuded. It turned out that being world-famous and being Sorted into Hufflepuff meant being the best thing since indoor plumbing to her fellow badgers. She wished they would dial down the awe since she didn't know how to live up to their expectations, but somehow Heri's awkward waving off of their adulation made them adore her even more; something about being admirable in her modesty.

All the attention made it incredibly hard for Heri to relax. By day she entertained a posse of Girl Who Lived fans between classes and during meals. She worked her people-skills to the bone, leading games and telling amusing stories. By night she was pandered to by her dorm-mates who couldn't get enough of doing hair and painting nails with her. She was expected to give them tips in styles while they drifted around her like ladies-in-waiting to their princess. It was exhausting work. Thankfully, they took her occasional fumbles as quirks from living the exciting life they presumed she had.

She had never dealt with such a large collection of people that didn't think negatively of her off the bat before and it turned out that dealing with kindness was somehow less simple than meanness. With people that thought she was a bad seed, Heri could just be however she wanted without any concern of what they thought, because their opinion of her couldn't get much worse than it already was. With people that admired her, she felt obligated to behave and treat them kindly. She knew how disappointment felt and wouldn't wish it on anyone. These people expected greatness from her, she wasn't about to just roll over and die under the challenge.

Heri spent several weeks being as sweet as honey. She hadn't known she was physically capable of being as mild-tempered and friendly as she had been, she was so used to smacking down losers that had it in for her. 'Nice, little girl' wasn't a persona she had thought would ever suit her. Apparently, she managed it well enough. She rather liked it as well; no one tried to pick fights with her at all.

Truthfully, being 'nice' wasn't that far from her unbothered attitude from before; all she had to do was have zero interaction with people that made her angry, simple when the people surrounding her wanted so badly to be friends with her. She also had to hold her tongue, a habit she already cultivated from living with the Dursleys. She used to let her sharp tongue run free at school when people came asking for it, but such a practice wouldn't do her any favours at Hogwarts.

"Do you think I should braid my hair today, Heri, or leave it down?" Sally-Anne Perks had asked her while they primping before breakfast.

"It's very fluttery when it's down but the braid you use is pretty on top of being practical."

"Hey, Potter, can you help me with my Transfiguration homework?" asked Roger Malone one weekend evening. He and Oliver Rivers were the most Ravenclaw-y of the bunch and took their homework seriously.

"Of course. Could we work on Astronomy afterwards as well? I've heard you're very good at it."

"Could you sign this for me, Heri?" Hannah Abbot once inquired, holding a picture book that told the bed-time story version of the night Voldemort exploded. "My little cousin is your biggest fan!"

"If you want me to. Is this the same cousin that reads the Young Merlin Mysteries? I like that series as well."

Left and right, Heri worked the crowd. All she really had to do was treat them kindly and pay attention to their interests. Considering they were going out of their way to do the same for her, Heri thought it was only common decency that she did the same.

* * *

**H**eri's regression to juvenile delinquency came suddenly. Actually, it came in two parts, but both occurred on the same day, so perhaps it still counted as 'sudden.' In any case, it happened unexpectedly.

Flying lessons were on the agenda, and every first-year was keyed up. Depending on the kid, they took out their worked up energy in different ways. Some used productive outlets like researching flying methods or bragging about the flying they did at home. Others took it out on others; bullying picked up, Malfoy and his goons being the most voracious.

Draco Malfoy was every stereotype against Slytherin Heri had ever heard of, and he seemed to revel in it. Even worse (in Heri's opinion), he was all bark, rarely any bite; he talked big but left all the actual harassment to his bodyguards. Heri was of the opinion that if you were going to be a certain way, you commit to it, you don't shove off parts of it on someone else; if Malfoy was going to be a bully, he should have at least dealt out some damage himself. The only time Malfoy put any shots in was when the other person's back was turned and there were no teachers nearby. Heri hated anything half-arsed and she had been itching to give the douche a pounding since she first saw him.

By a twist of fate, Professor Sprout was too sick to work that day and couldn't watch over the first-year Hufflepuffs during the free period before their Flying lesson. It was decided that the Hufflepuffs would join the Slytherins' and Gryffindors' Flying lesson during that time. The entire gaggle of them huddled off to the side of the rival houses — Heri situated in the middle as was usual for a Hufflepuff 'leader' — and trying to not get involved in the inter-house power-plays.

The entire lesson was a comedy in errors. Over half of those present couldn't get their brooms off the ground the first round of shouted "Up!" and even those that did manage didn't hold the broom properly. Not even Malfoy with all his bragging did it correctly, whining that he had been holding it that way all his life even as Madame Hooch told him flat out that it was wrong. Limbs were banged, children were embarrassed, and insults were thrown about. Madame Hooch had her work cut out for her. It almost came to a violent end when Neville Longbottom nearly lost control of his broom and flew off. Thankfully, he had been standing next to Heri, and she had pulled him off the busted thing just as it shot off into the atmosphere.

When Madame Hooch finally got everyone into the air in one piece, and everyone was handling themselves reasonably enough, she brought out Quidditch equipment for them to play with. Training Snitches were buzzing about, quaffles were being tossed, and bludgers were hurling through the air. All the students were spread out in groups, playing with the flying balls.

Heri was trailing after a training Snitch with Megan Jones, Wayne Hopkins, and Hannah Abbott, her three most enthusiastic cheerleaders. They were zipping through the air, laughing as they went, making grabs for the Snitch when they got in range. It was just as she was zeroing in on the winged ball that she saw something that made her blood run could. There, not a hundred yards from where she was flying, was Justin Finch-Fletchley and some boys from Gryffindor talking, not noticing the bludger speeding in their direction.

"Justin!" Heri cried, pouring on the speed to reach them. "Look out! Get out of the way!"

The boys looked up in confusion as Heri came rushing at them, but they moved too slowly. One of them spotted the bludger and hollered his own warning as he dove off, but in the scramble to move, Justin got stuck upside down and couldn't straighten himself.

Holy Hera, he could die! In her panic, Heri screeched up in front of the boy. She pulled her fist back and —

_CRACK!_

The bludger went careening back the way it came.

Holding herself back from gaping, Heri noticed that her fist shimmered pale pink.

Suffice to say the uproar was _immense_. Hoots, hollers, screams, even tears were thrown her way. Heri's ears were ringing.

"Y-you — you just — a-a-and then it — OH, MY _GOD!_" Heri wasn't certain which one of her fangirls shrieked it, but that was basically what everyone had to say about her feat, Madame Hooch included.

Hufflepuff was awarded fifty points for saving another student's life and Heri was all but carried off the training ground on the shoulders of her Housemates.

The crowd of first-years that were part of the Flying lesson buzzed around for the rest of the day. Heri didn't know about them, but she was still hyped up on adrenaline. That was the first time anyone else had been in danger of death in front of her and it somehow made a bigger impression on her than when she herself was in danger. Someone almost died in front of her! Goodness, why was no one else bothered about that?

It was in this twitchy frame of mind that she came across Malfoy and his bookends harassing Longbottom. She had told her posse to meet her in the Great Hall while she popped off for a minute to visit the lavatory. Never had she wished before that she had more witnesses around to testify what she was seeing.

Neville Longbottom was a gentle soul of a retiring disposition that made Heri wonder why he was in the House of the brave. Sure, it too guts to live among the bodacious and reckless, but she felt he might have had a better time of it in Hufflepuff. At least with the 'Puffs he wouldn't be taunted for not being loud and proud.

They were in a lesser used corridor leading to the Great Hall. The doors were in throwing distance but the hallway wasn't trafficked like the others. The three yahoos were pushing Longbottom around just outside of the sight-range of the Great Hall. They tossed around some sort of bauble that Longbottom did his damnedest to get back despite their shoving.

"You want this stupid thing, do you, Longbottom?" said Malfoy, smiling nastily. "Too bad that it's mine now!"

Heri trembled with anger. She wanted to go over there and pound Malfoy's face in but she really didn't want to get in trouble for beating up another student. Snape for sure would come down on her like the hammer of God if he caught her bloodying up her wretched pets.

The boys laughed meanly and gave Longbottom another harsh shove, this time sending the boy falling to the ground. He landed on his side and cried out when he slammed his elbow. He tried to get up again when the Slytherin boys started to walk away but Malfoy sent a kick to the hand propping him up.

The blond boy tossed the bauble in the air and caught it again.

"Maybe if you had given this thing a squeeze you would have remembered how to land on your fat arse!"

As the Slytherin boys walked away, Heri stalked up to where Longbottom was shakily getting up again. She caught him up by his elbow (the same place she had pulled on him when getting him off his defective broom) and hoisted to the boy to his feet. He startled badly but pulled himself back together when he saw who it was.

"A-ah, P-P-Potter . . ." He could barely get the words out, he was shaking so badly.

"They took something of yours, didn't they?" said Heri, not really asking. She burned the boy with her gaze, daring him to try to deny it.

Longbottom looked wary at her expression.

"Y-y-yes. I s-suppose I'll g-g-get a p-profess-sor later—"

"Never mind a professor," said Heri briskly, pulling the boy along with her as she strode toward the Great Hall. "We're going to get it back _right now, _and I'll be having some _words _with Draco Malfoy."

Longbottom protested weakly but he really didn't have the will-power to go against Heri at the moment, not when she was practically spitting fire.

The Great Hall was empty of teachers at the moment, only the prefects and Head Boy and Girl were there to keep order. Heri strode to the Slytherin table like a woman on a mission, Longbottom's arm still firmly within her clutches. She stalked up to where the first-year Slytherins were eating and came up behind Malfoy as he was bragging about his theft.

"_Malfoy,_" Heri hissed, burning holes into the pompous boy's head with the strength of her stare.

The blond idiot turned and sneered at them when he saw who was there.

"Haven't had enough?" he taunted Longbottom. He turned back to Heri. "You should find yourself better company, Potter. Why don't you stop messing about with losers? Bad enough that you got yourself sorted with the duffers, hanging around cowardly lions like Longbottom will only drag you down further."

Longbottom hunched into himself.

"I'll thank you to keep such opinions to yourself," Heri said tightly, trying to keep herself from scowling at the brat. She had been doing so well with being non-confrontational, she didn't want _Malfoy _to be the one that got her fighting again. "We're here to get back what you took, so hand it over, if you please."

The other first-year Slytherins were watching the exchanged. Sceptical expressions on their faces, they seemed to be surprised that Heri had the guts to go against Malfoy.

Malfoy wrinkled his nose at her.

"Championing the cause of pathetic now, are you? I understand that you're some big hero, Potter, but you're taking it a bit too far. Make friends in better places; _I_ could help you there."

For a moment, Malfoy looked expectant and Longbottom looked resigned. Such a combination sparked the flames of fury Heri had been trying so hard to keep banked.

"It's no business of yours who _I_ make friends with!" Heri snapped, allowing her face to fall into the violent glare she had been holding back. "Neville Longbottom is good person, and _far_ better company than _yo__u _could ever offer!"

Her fall from character made her want to want to curse. Damn the dratted boy! Damn him to the deepest pits of Tartarus!

"If I had to choose between _you_ and a disease-ridden _goat-__fuck__er_," she continued, getting into it, "I'd be turnin' down yer manky minger arse every single _soddin'_ time!" Malfoy flushed in anger. Damn, but it felt good to get it all out! Heri pushed on. "Now, give us back what ya stole or I'll break yer goddamn face in!"

Malfoy scoffed and beckoned his goons forward. The two trolls cracked their knuckles in a way that was supposed to be intimidating.

"Just try it, Potter! I don't know who you think you are but Crabbe and Goyle aren't bothered about putting a stupid little girl in her place!"

Heri growled. She'd show them a stupid little girl!

Longbottom tugged at her hand insistently.

"Please, Potter, I don't want us to fight about this. It's not that important anyway!"

"That's right, run along now, little coward," derided Malfoy.

Heri shook off Longbottom's hand and took a threatening step forward.

"I'm warnin' ya, arsehole. Hand it over or I'll send ya bitchin' and cryin' for mummy."

Malfoy's response was to sic his goons on her.

Once a meaty paw landed on her forearm, Heri sprang into action. She kicked Goyle's feet out from under him as she yanked him off balance. She hurled him into Crabbe, sending both to the floor. Their heads banged against the stone and they laid there, stunned.

Before Malfoy could do more than blink, Heri caught him by the shoulder and sucker-punched him in the jaw. He went tumbling on top of his goons before Heri shoved him off the pile with her foot. Crabbe was in the midst of staggering to his feet again but Heri whacked him across the back of his head with her forearm, propelling him forward to smack his head on the ground again. He fell half on Goyle and half on top of Malfoy, knocking the breath out of the blond boy.

The two apes knocked out, she pulled Malfoy out of the dog-pile enough to twist him onto his front and yank one of his arms up behind him in a locking hold. He had to sit up painfully on his knees and arch his back to keep her from dislocating his arm when she straightened.

She had the three stooges laid out in less than ten seconds; not even long enough for any prefect to realise a fight was happening. Luck was on her side this time around, they were located in the space between the Slytherin table and the wall, effectively hiding the confrontation from everyone but those in the immediate area.

She loomed over Malfoy and put her knee on his lower back, warning him to stay put. She jerked his arm back sharply and pressed her knee in when he opened his mouth to undoubtedly insult her again. He groaned in pain.

"I warned you, Malfoy," she hissed. Heri was reminded of another confrontation she had before that oddly went the same way this one was going. Her anger was fading, returning her to a less colourful way of speech. "Did you think I was kidding?"

"Psychotic bint!" the blond boy spat.

He grappled for the wand in his pocket but Heri twisted his wrist as his free arm came up, making him drop it. It rolled off to the side, too far away to be of any more use. She shoved him down and flipped him onto his back with her foot. She ground that same foot into his upper thigh as punishment. He keened pitifully.

Really, were all the jumped-up tools trying to prove themselves against her going to follow the same script? If they were, she wasn't going to go through the trouble of treating them any differently from each other.

"I asked if you thought I was kidding," Heri mocked. "Not what your mother should have named you. Now, are you going to do as I've said or am I going to have to persuade you further?"

Malfoy shot glances at his fallen bodyguards, obviously calculating his chances. Heri lifted her foot from the boy's thigh place only to nail him in the side, forcing him to curl up in pain.

"It's very simple, Malfoy," said Heri. She crossed her arms and stared down at him coldly. "You can either hand over the trinket and salvage whatever's left of your pitiful dignity when we leave, or you can be a ruddy moron and I'll send you to the Hospital Wing with a thrashing so harsh, not even your own mother will recognise you after ward."

Proving himself self-preserving enough for Slytherin, Malfoy surrendered Longbottom's bauble.

As Heri ushered Longbottom away, she shot a sharp look at the gawkers that had made no motion to help the three boys. Some looked upset, others looked gobsmacked. They jolted under her gaze.

"Get those morons to the Hospital Wing," Heri said. "With luck they'll be right as rain by tomorrow."

Heri earned herself an enemy that day, but she also gained a fiercely loyal supporter. Considering how little she thought of any danger Malfoy might pose, Heri considered it a job well done and well compensated for.

* * *

**N**eville Longbottom was among the people that wondered how he got into Gryffindor, let alone Hogwarts. He wasn't like his dorm-mates, he didn't perform attention-drawing feats, and his spell-work was average at best. No one would ever wrote epic stories about Neville.

No one ever paid much attention to Neville in general unless it was to pick on him. Beyond Professor Sprout, rare was the person that had something kind to say to him or about him. Most of the time, they weren't even trying to be hurtful, they just didn't care enough to notice that they weren't exactly being kind. It was that way with the people of his House; they didn't purposefully mistreat him, but the casual disregard cut him just as deeply as if they had.

Neville had gone to Flying lesson expecting to humiliate himself in some horrendous way. His Gran had forbid from touching a broom when he was younger for a reason, and he knew fully well that his clumsiness wasn't going to miraculously disappear on the day he were learning to fly. If he didn't end up with some broken bone, it would be through divine intervention.

As if to set the stage for his public disgrace, Gryffindor was to learn with Slytherin that day. Just what he wanted, to make a prat of himself in front of snooty blood-purists like Malfoy and ilk. And if that wasn't bad enough, Hufflepuff was added to the class as well. When the crowd of Hufflepuffs arrived, laughing and cheery, with Sally-Anne Perks, Hannah Abbott, and Heri Potter, their three prettiest girls, giggling excitedly from within the pack, Neville knew any shame he suffered that day would follow him until his death.

His death nearly came sooner than anticipated when the shoddy school broom he was using starting flying away with him still on it. It was only by the grace of the powers that be that Heri Potter managed to haul him off the broom in time. He thought his face would melt off from the heat of his blush when he realised she had wrapped her arms completely around his middle during her rescue of him. Heri Potter had wrapped her arms around him! Neville reddened just at the thought.

Neville had thought he had dodged a curse when the lesson ended with him in one piece and not a laughing-stock, but it was not to be. Malfoy and his trolls ambushed Neville on his way to lunch and had taken the Remembrall his Gran had sent him just that morning. They made a game of tossing it to one another while Neville tried to catch in from out of the air. He panted and wheezed and prayed that even if they stole it from him completely, they wouldn't destroy it; his grandmother had sent it to him and it was precious to him.

He was a trembling pile of pathetic teetering back onto his feet after the terrible trio finished their fun when Potter appeared out of nowhere and helped him to his feet. He had never seen her look anything but cheerful and unbothered; the fierce expression on her face was one that resembled McGonagall looming over misbehaving student and it put him off balance.

He tried to brush off the situation when she asked about it, telling her he'd go talk to a professor about it later even though he wouldn't. Potter didn't accept the brush off and sent him a stern look that would have sent him crying if it was him she was upset with.

"We're going to get it back _right _now," Potter told him, setting her unwavering sight in the direction Malfoy had went. Neville had seen a similar expression on his Gran after Uncle Algie had dropped him out a window. "And I'll be having some _words _with Draco Malfoy."

Neville wasn't sure what Potter was meaning to do; she was a mild-mannered girl from Hufflepuff and Malfoy was an aggressive elitist from a family with a shady background, a Slytherin to boot. Surely she didn't think she could _talk_ Malfoy into returning Neville's property?

The conversation went along in the same manner Neville had expected: Potter firmly but politely requested Malfoy to give Neville his Remembrall back, and Malfoy let his condescension fly freely by degrading Neville, insulting Potter, and tried to coerce Potter into going to the dark side. Malfoy had spewed such abuse against Neville that Neville became dispirited enough to begin to believe that Potter might actually just give up on him and accept Malfoy's offer.

Such a thought was tossed out the window when Potter seemed to _snap _and flung out the filthiest invectives Neville had ever heard into Malfoy's gobsmacked face. She used words he'd never even heard of before! Neville had never witnessed a lady cuss before and the experience was increasingly singular.

He thought they were going to wind up in a sticky end when Potter threatened Malfoy with physical violence, which the blond boy responded to by reminding her of Crabbe and Goyle's presence. Neville had _tried _to convince her to walk away but Potter wasn't having it.

The situation become hostile the moment Goyle actually laid hand on Potter. Neville thought he was going to have to live the rest of his life knowing he had been too cowardly and weak to do anything as a girl was hurt right in front of him, but it was not so. Potter released a furious flurry of blows against her attackers the likes of which Neville would have imagined coming from jungle animal. He watched without comprehending as the small girl not even five feet tall laid waste to the hulking ogres that were Malfoy's thugs.

But she was not finished there! Potter bodily dragged Malfoy into the brawl with a punch to the jaw Neville felt sympathy ache for. She whaled on Malfoy like a bear mauling its dinner.

"I warned you, Malfoy," she had hissed when she had him in a hold of submission. "Did you think I was kidding?"

Neville hadn't thought she was kidding, but he hadn't expected her to follow through with her words in such a shocking way. Judging by the looks on the other Slytherin first-years faces, they hadn't been expecting it either.

"Psychotic bint!" Malfoy snarled, renewing his struggle.

Neville might have felt honour-bound to challenge the blond boy to a duel for such an insult to a lady if it hadn't been for the fact that Potter flung him down like he was something dirtying her hands and all but stomped on his privates in retaliation. As the idiotic boy keened, Neville felt that sympathy ache again.

The confrontation ended with Malfoy admitting defeat and returning the Remembrall. Potter returned to her normal self after advising the other Slytherins in how to lessen Malfoy's suffering and walked off _like a boss _with Neville trailing behind her.

Neville Longbottom didn't so much believe in gods as he did natural forces in the world far out of his control, but at the moment pretty Heri Potter handed him his precious gift with a sweet smile on her face, Neville became the high priest of a new religion with her as the supreme goddess.

* * *

**T**he Slytherins that had witnessed the beat-down Heri gave Malfoy and his meatheads edged around her as if she were a ticking bomb for weeks. She ignored it pointedly. (Honestly, could they be any more obvious? They were supposed to be the crafty ones!) She made no mention of the incident since and had assumed what she now considered her school persona. When asked about it by her friends, Heri claimed ignorance. For the most part, no one tried to confront her about it.

It was only 'for the most part' since Malfoy had made it his life's ambition to get her in trouble in whatever ways he could manage. He didn't succeed of course, none of professors took him seriously because of how non-confrontational Heri came off, nor would any of his housemate back him up after the first time when Heri put the fear of God in them.

"What do you mean you're staying out of it?" Malfoy had snapped at Theodore Nott when the gangling boy refused to help. Nott was the only person Malfoy talked to as an equal. "You're just going to stand there while a Hufflepuff makes fools out of us?"

Nott sent Malfoy an unimpressed look.

"You mean make a fool out of _you. _I'm not putting myself on the line just because you don't know when to admit you're beat. I like to live my life _without _injury."

"When my father hears about this—!"

"By all means, Draco!" Nott interrupted. "Tell your father how a Hufflepuff girl younger than you sent you limping to the Hospital Wing! Tell him how she had you flat on your back and wandless in less than a minute! I'm sure he'd love to hear all about it!"

Malfoy fumed but conceded the point, not willing to humiliate himself by letting his father know how badly he'd been beaten. Since then, he spent a significant amount of his time glaring at her from across the room while plotting his next petty attempt to trouble her.

In contrast to the hedging of the first-years, the older snakes seemed to have joined her fan-club. It obviously baffled those not in the know when an older Slytherin would shake her hand or clap her affably on the back, but they seemed to have chalked it up to Heri being on good terms with the three scariest boys on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Marcus, Lucian, and Graham had laughed themselves sick when they heard about how she had whaled on the other first-year.

"His face was always begging for a beating, in my opinion," Lucian chortled.

Marcus patted her head fondly, still guffawing.

"Didn't know you had it in you, twerp. They had to levitate that Goyle kid out; he was clocked out proper for two hours!"

Heri took advantage of her new popularity in the sketchiest House by finagling the password to their common room out of them. Heri found that she could get the bit of peaceful solitude she'd been craving since she arrived at school by telling her housemates that she was going to go visit Marcus in the Slytherin common room. Not even Megan, Wayne, or Hannah would trail after her then. She would then enjoy a leisurely stroll _by herself _until she got to see her favourite person at Hogwarts; the situation was made of win.

* * *

**I**t turned out that punching a bludger with your bare hands was a feat that impressed even Gryffindors. After word had spread that Heri had saved Justin Finch-Fletchley from bodily harm during their Flying lesson, the Weasley twins came poking around to get a closer look at Heri. That was not to say the Beaters from the other House teams didn't come around to get a grasp on the challenge she might give them in the future as well, but the Weasley twins were the only ones that literally poked her.

"Look at these wee twigs, Georgie," said twin number one. He jabbed at a bicep. "Hard to believe this is the arm that knocked a bludger into space if the rumours are to be believed."

They were at the Quidditch pitch. The Hufflepuff House team had coerced Heri into sitting in for a practice to show her what fun could be had if she joined the team next year. They had entered the Pitch as the Gryffindors were finishing up, and the twins had introduced themselves to Heri and her entourage after they had changed back into their regular uniforms.

"Ah, but good things come in small packages, Freddie, my lad," said twin number two, nodding sagely. "Why, she could likely pick up Hagrid and cradle him like a baby if she used both arms!"

Heri couldn't help but laugh, smothering the sound behind her hands. She rolled her eyes as they winked cheekily at her.

"First of all, I'm left-handed," said Heri waving the hand of the arm Fred hadn't been prodding. "Second, I certainly did _not _send it into space, it flew off just the same as if I had hit it with a bat. Really, the exaggerations are incredible!"

George Weasley plopped down next to her indolently.

"Here now, the truth sounds incredible enough!"

"Here, here!" Fred chimed in, mimicking George's pose in her other side. "A little Miss like you batting up a bludger properly would be amazing enough—"

"—managing the same with a punch is one for the history books!" George finished.

They continued on in this vein, discussing the oddity of the occurrence. Every once in a while a member of the Hufflepuff team would shoot them a cautious look, as if they were expecting the Weasley boys to somehow abduct Heri and turn her into a Gryffindor to join their team instead.

As they chatted, Heri would point out the Snitch whenever she saw it, sometimes locating it before the team Seeker did. She of course could have pin-pointed it even more often if she had been paying active attention to it, what with her raptor vision, but she didn't want that Diggory boy to feel bad.

"The strength of an ogre and the eyes of a harpy!" Fred proclaimed, tugging on a curl of her hair teasingly. "If only you were a Gryffindor! We've been searching for a decent Seeker, you know."

"Now, now, we don't want to go tipping off the competition, do we?" George reprimanded with a finger waggle. "Now that Potter's in their pocket, we'll need all the advantage we can get!"

Heri snorted.

"Really, you two. I won't be on the team until next year if ever. There's no guarantee I'll get a spot, nor I am sure I even want to join anyway."

"Not join the Qudditch team!" cried everyone who had heard Heri's statement.

George leaned in.

"Why wouldn't you want to join? It's loads of fun!"

Heri shot them an unimpressed look.

"It's dangerous, isn't it? I don't know if I want to risk life and limb for a game."

"Rubbish!" interjected Ernie. He had been following the conversation avidly. "Quidditch is the best! Sure, there's the risk of getting a bit dinged up but that's nothing a few minutes in the Hospital Wing can't cure!"

They proceeded to pelt Heri with various reasons why she absolutely had to join the team.

"Alright, alright!" she eventually exclaimed. "If there's a spot open, I'll try out next year. Happy?"

There was an absurd amount of cheering in response.

* * *

**H**eri sat in a puddle of blood, flecks of gore splattered across her front. A primitive club almost the length of her and as thick at the handle as her waist was held loosely on her lap. It was dripping with blood and staining her skirt. Her heart was racing a mile a minute as she took in the sight of the towering monster she had just clobbered.

Why wasn't it exploding into dust? This was the hysterical question Heri's fevered mind kept asking. All the other monsters she had destroyed immediately turned to ash; this was the first time she had dealt with an actual corpse! This was the first time she was soaked in blood.

Oh, Gods, she had a corpse on her hands! There was a dead carcass just laying in the corridor! How was she going to fix this? She didn't know how to dispose of a body! Would they expel her when they found her? Would she be sent to jail? Tears of terror and panic streamed down her cheeks. What the hell was she supposed to do now!?

"MS. POTTER!" a horrified voice rang out. There, at the turn of the corridor were a trio of professors, McGonagall, Snape, and Quirrell.

Quirrell let out a yelp at the sight and fainted dead away. The remaining two, being of stronger dispositions, quickly hustled over to where Heri sat trembling at the withdrawal of adrenaline and sobbing with fright. McGonagall pulled Heri out of the cooling blood and drew her into a comforting embrace. She checked Heri over discreetly and was relieved to find nothing worse than bruising.

As McGonagall did her best to calm Heri, Snape inspected the beast. He frowned harshly.

"What in Merlin's name happened here?"

"Really, Severus!" McGonagall scolded. "Give the poor girl a moment!"

"I-i-i-it . . ." Heri stammered, her eyes bleary with tears. Wasn't she in mountains of trouble? "I w-was ju-sst . . ."

McGonagall shushed her.

"Hush now, dearie. Take a deep breath."

Heri sucked in a shuddering breath and held it. After a few seconds, she released it slowly. She did this a couple times more before her trembling stopped. Alright, so they weren't angry at her; she could turn this in her favour.

"Isn't that better?" the Transfiguration professor soothed. "Are you ready to tell us what happened?"

Heri nodded hesitantly.

"I was coming down from the owlery, professor. I was headed back down to the dorms. That— that . . . whatever that thing is ran right into me when I turned the corner. It tried to kill me! It tried to hit me with that—that—" Heri waved her arm sharply at the fallen club. "I tried to run but it caught me and it picked me up and I was so scared and—!"

"Ms. Potter!" said McGonagall, cutting off Heri's increasingly raising voice with a little shake. "It's alright now. It can't hurt you anymore. However did it come to die in such way?"

Heri shot the body a wild-eyed look.

"I was kicking and scratching and trying to make it let go but nothing worked, not even when I hit it with spells! It was swinging it's club at me and I was— I was pulling myself out of the way, and I didn't know what to do, professor! I thought I was going to die!"

"How did it die, Potter?" Snape said in his dark tone.

Heri let all of her anxiety and confusion lace her words.

"It got me in the side when I moved too slow, sir. I don't know how I did it but I managed to get the bat thingy out of it's hand and I whacked it as hard as I could! I think I hit it in the head. It dropped me but it almost landed me as well so I just kept whacking at it until it stopped moving."

The two conscious professor looked to the weapon in question. It was almost the size of the girl that had used it! As if to validate the truth of what Heri said, Snape identified what he knew to be brain matter and shards of bone embedded into the club.

"You . . ." McGonagall couldn't have been more gobsmacked if someone had slapped her with a fish. "You lifted that heavy thing and bludgeoned the troll to death?"

Heri flinched at the blunt words. She nodded warily.

"I've always been strong for my size, ma'am."

Snape and McGonagall looked at each other blankly. 'Strong for her size' was an understatement!

Snape dragged the glistening weapon from where it lay when Heri had dropped it. He offered the handle to Heri purposefully when she did little more than stare at it. Now that she was coming down from her battle high she had to use two hands, but she hefted the club up as if she were lifting a stack of textbooks. There were no words to describe the expressions on the professors faces.

"A fine mess," Snape muttered. He gave Heri a hard, searching look. "Why were you not in the Great Hall, girl? I have never known a student that would rather spend time in the owlery instead of fattening themselves up at the Halloween Feast."

Heri looked at her bloodied hands.

"Hagrid told me that my parents died on Halloween. I didn't really feel like celebrating, sir."

They spent no further time on questioning Heri. As Snape proceeded to revive Quirrell to help him with the clean up, McGonagall ushered Heri away from the scene.

"To the Hospital Wing with you," the older woman said. "No doubt a Calming Draught will do you a bit of good."

They had planned on keeping the incident hushed up. They didn't account for three Gryffindors, the Twins' younger brother, Neville, and the Granger girl to come across them while running about the halls when they should have been in their dormitories. Their screams at seeing Heri looking like the body from a murder-mystery could be heard halfway across the building. The story was all over the school by the next morning.

* * *

**C**hristmas came and passed in a far more pleasant manner than Heri had ever experience.

The legend of the Girl Who Lived had again caught fire since 'the Trouncing of the Troll,' as the incident had come to be known. The story became comparable to the extraordinary feats of the first Hercules by the time letters were being sent home about it. In the month and a half before winter-break, Heri had zero time to just kick back, hounded as she was. Luckily, the majority of her groupies went home for the holidays. She spent two blissful weeks lazing about the first-year dorms, only going out for meals and the occasional stroll around the grounds.

All four of the Weasley boys remained at the school. Heri heard from Fred and George that their parents were off to see one of their older brothers in Romania. Charlie Weasley worked on a dragon reserve and didn't have the resources to visit for the holidays so Mr. and Mrs. Weasley went to him, bringing along their youngest as well.

Heri was introduced to Percy and Ron, the twins' older and younger brother respectively, during the feast on Christmas day. She had come down in the lovely new jumper the twins had gotten their mother to knit for her and greeted the remaining students and teachers cordially.

"You got a jumper too?" blurted Ron, staring disbelievingly at the black knitted top with a prettily stylised yellow 'H' on the front. Apparently, he recognised his mother's knitting style. He himself was wearing a maroon one with an 'R' on it.

Heri smoothed down the front. It was a bit long on her, obviously made by a person used to outfitting bigger people. It came down to her thighs, draped over her fingers, and slipped off one of her shoulders, but it was professionally done as well as being warm and lovely. It was the sweetest thing she had ever received and she was grateful for it.

"It was in the pile along with my other presents," said Heri, sitting down at the table. Hadn't _that _been a shock? Christmas presents! She had gotten sweets from all of her housemates that she spoke to regularly as well as from from other Houses as well. "You must thank your mother for me; no one's ever made me a jumper before."

Ron flushed a bright red.

"Don't know what she's doing, sending you a Weasley jumper," he mumbled into his peas.

After eating, the twins introduced her to the joys of wizarding chess wherein she soundly beat them both. She whooped their behinds two more times before they admitted defeat and pushed Ron forward to battle in their place. Ron was the best chess player in the family they bragged, he would surely give her a run for her money. Heri and Ron fought it out for the better part of an hour before they agreed to a tie for the sake of going out to play in the snow instead.

Later on, after she returned to her dorm for an afternoon nap, Hedwig flew in with another present for her. Heri hadn't seen the dratted bird since winter had reared it's chilly head so it was quite a surprise.

"Hello, Your Eminence. What have you got there?"

It turned out to be a cloak that made the wearer invisible.

* * *

**H**eri wasn't sure what to do. She was sprinting down the dungeon corridors toward the Slytherin common room. Her breath came out in pants, her lungs burned in exhaustion, her legs ached with exertion. She all but flew to her destination, hair streaming behind her, clothes rippling at her speed. She needed Marcus! She needed someone to tell her what the hell she had to do to salvage the situation.

Earlier that week, during one of the teas she took with Hagrid after classes, she had witnessed a dragon being hatched. Where had Hagrid gotten a hold of a dragon egg? What was he thinking, trying to bring up a dragon in a wooden hut? What was he going to do with it when it got bigger?

She had devoted extra time to help Hagrid with his new bundle of scaly joy. After classes, she would help Hagrid by looking after little Norbert while he took care of his Grounds-Keeper duties. Her ability to speak to reptilian creatures came in handy as they had discovered that her hissed words calmed the young dragon. Norbert wasn't anywhere near old enough to communicate yet but he responded well to stories and Heri holding him while she fed him the concoction Hagrid made specifically to nourish baby dragons.

They had been managing well enough until the day of moving Norbert came up. He was growing at a steady rate, already the size of a medium-sized dog and promised to grow larger even sooner. Hagrid had been distraught at the thought of being separated from his baby but he couldn't deny that he soon wouldn't have the resources to care for Norbert; he didn't have enough space and nowhere near enough food.

They had been discussing their options when Hagrid noticed a face in his window. It was Malfoy! The blond ponce had skedaddled when he realised he was discovered but that didn't take away from the fact that he knew they had a dragon. Heri and Hagrid had sat in dread, waiting for the inquisition to drop the hammer on them. But it never came. Two, three days later, still nothing. For whatever reason, Malfoy had kept the information to himself.

Malfoy's silence didn't stop the two from frantically trying to come up with a plan. Heri had been headed down to see Hagrid again when she saw Malfoy strutting down the hall. A wicked smirk alighted on his face when he saw her before he turned deliberately and walked off with purpose. Even not knowing where he was going, a puddle of dread pooled in her belly. Her instincts screamed at her that trouble was coming and she had took off like her rear had been set on fire.

She burst into the Slytherin common room and streaked her way up to the boys' dorms when she saw neither Marcus nor his friends were there. She pounded on the door vigorously and all but tackled Lucian when he opened the it.

"What the bloody fuck?" Lucian cried, windmilling his arms to stay on his feet.

Graham and Marcus looked on curiously from where they were playing cards on Lucian's bed.

"Help, _please!_" Heri cried, gripping at Lucian's shirt. "Malfoy's going to ruin everything!"

"What could _Malfoy _possibly do that you can't take care of yourself?" asked Marcus, unimpressed.

"If it was just about me, I'd pound his soddin' face into the dirt until his blood turned as muddy as he says the muggleborns' are!" Heri snarled, halfway into the state of mind that had her cursing like a sailor and thrashing whoever stood in front of her. Angry tears prickled the corners of her eyes. "But _Hagrid _is in trouble! That buggerin' ponce is going to get Hagrid fired!"

At receiving their full attention, Heri went on to explain about the dragon. Marcus certainly didn't care anything about Hagrid, but Heri's tears of frustration brought on the panic most guys felt when a girl started crying on them. To make her stop, He hurriedly suggested going to the Weasleys since they knew from Heri that Charlie Weasley worked with dragons. Heri's face lit up like the sun and she quickly gave them her thanks before rushing off to find the Twins.

Fred and George ended up being immense help. They had a map of the school that showed the movements of the people within the castle and grounds. They found Malfoy meeting up with his goons before the three of them headed in the direction of Snape's office. Cobbling together a plan involving a lullaby, Heri's invisibility cloak, jinx'd staircases, and a transfigured rubber duck, Heri and the twins rushed off to put their plan into action.

While Fred and George went off to slow the enemy down by pranking the stairs leading down from the floor Malfoy was on, Heri hurried back to Hagrid's to inform him of the plan. She gave him the rubber duck to transfigure while she convinced Norbert to take a nap.

Norbert couldn't understand much yet but he appreciated a song before bed all the same. She eased him into a deep sleep and placed him in a cushioned crate which she then wrapped with her invisibility cloak. By the time she was ready to go hide Norbert in a secret room in the Boathouse, Hagrid had an animated komodo dragon lazing by the fire; it was approximately the same size and proportions of Norbert.

"That looks great!" said Heri. "Maybe you should give it frills too, like some lizards have. We could say Malfoy mistook them for wings."

Hagrid thought it was a brilliant idea and did just so, displaying his magical prowess once again. Only a third-year's education or not, Hagrid knew what he was doing.

Heri discreetly pointed her wand at Norbert's crate through the gap of her uniform cloak, placing a levitation charm on it. She nodded to Hagrid before making her way to the Boathouse, her pace brisk but not suspicious.

She had just placed Norbert in the hidey-hole when she heard echoes of what she knew were Malfoy's shrieking. Heart pumping faster, Heri jogged back onto the grounds and back to Hagrid's. The two of them made a production of playing with the komodo dragon/frill-necked lizard hybrid. They had a good fifteen minutes of calming down and mentally preparing themselves that — by the Malfoy and whoever else he dragged in to bust Hagrid came to the door — they really were just chilling out, having fun with the dragon-like creature.

Malfoy, Professors Snape and Sprout, as well as Fred and George were at the door. Malfoy looked triumphant, the professors looked agitated and bewildered respectively, and the twins were anxious as well as wincing in pain from the unforgiving hands of Snape twisting their ears and dragging them along.

Hagrid greeted them with a look of polite confusion on his face.

"Was there summat you needed, professors?"

"Don't even bother pretending," Malfoy jeered. "I know that dragon is in here!"

Hagrid gave Malfoy a once-over before returning his gaze to the professors.

"Hold your tongue, Mr. Malfoy," Snape instructed, releasing his grip from Fred and George's ears. He gave Hagrid a flat look. "We've been informed that you are currently housing a dragon."

Hagrid grinned brightly.

"Aye, I am! You lot want ter come in an' see 'em then?"

Those not a part of the plot look astounded. They were speechless as Hagrid ushered them in and offered them tea.

"He's jus' woke from a nap so he's still a bit sluggish."

Heri looked up from where she was tickling the big lizard behind its frills and smiled pleasantly. They had named the reptile Enoch. Enoch blinked blearily up at the guests before closing its eyes again and hissing softly in pleasure.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" asked Professor Sprout, eyeing the lizard in bemusement.

"Enoch's a muggle dragon!" said Hagrid excitedly, serving up the tea. "Heri was tellin' me about how Muggles had a species of dragon still living among 'em tha' wasn't part of the lot we include in the Statute. They're a lot smaller'n regular dragons but I reckon tha's why they were considered safe enough to leave with the Muggles."

Eyes swung to Heri at such an outlandish claim. She shrugged helplessly and pet Enoch on his snout.

"They're called komodo dragons," she explained. "I'm pretty sure they're not at all magical. I've read that they're called dragons because they're the biggest species of lizard known to Muggles. Muggles call large lizards dragons, you know."

"That creature certainly doesn't look like any komodo dragon I've ever seen before," said Snape, eyeing Enoch's frills.

"Ah, well, Hagrid won an egg off of a chap he met who said it was a dragon egg, sir. Looking at Enoch now, I'd say he's some sort of hybrid between a komodo and a frill-necked lizard."

"That's not the dragon I saw!" Malfoy exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at the indolent lizard. He had been growing progressively redder the longer the conversation went along but he had finally reached his bursting point. "I don't know what they did with it, but it had wings and coughed smoke!"

Hagrid and Heri looked at each other in feigned confusion.

"Were you peeking through the windows or something, Malfoy?" said Heri, making a disapproving face. "If you were being creepy and invading Hagrid's privacy by looking through those hazy windows, I don't doubt that you would have thought you saw Enoch with wings."

The situation immediately turned against Malfoy's favour. Heri had never seen Professor Sprout look so shocked and appalled.

Later on, after Malfoy had been pinned with two weeks worth of detention for disrespecting a staff member and trying to get another student expelled through outrageous lies, Heri introduced Norbert to his new temporary playmate. The twins had assured Hagrid that they would get in touch with their brother Charlie to get Norbert to a good home, so Norbert only had maybe another week left at Hogwarts. Hagrid was saddened but the fact that Enoch would still be around brightened his mood; he was surprisingly fond of the creature.

* * *

**O**ut of all the people at Hogwarts, Heri hadn't been expecting_ Quirrell _to be the one to abduct her and drag her off to parts unknown. If she had to make a list of things from the school she thought most likely to do her harm, the stuttery DADA professor was near the bottom of the list, above under-cooked meat but below her own pillow.

Well, perhaps 'abducted' was too strong of a word, Heri thought as she was dropped in front of a dusty mirror. She wasn't abducted so much as she was deceived into following him into his office where he then proceeded to body-bind her and levitate her through the corridor Dumbledore had specifically forbidden at the beginning of the year. She wasn't sure what the big deal about the corridor was, either. The cerberus was cool for shock purposes, but any eight-year-old from her primary school could tell you that they were put to sleep with a bit of music. After the dog, it was all decidedly _not _deadly challenges that they went through to reach the dusty room they were now in.

Why they hell were they there? The room was empty beside the old mirror! Oh, gods, he wasn't some child-molester with a fetish for watching himself at it, was he?

"I suppose you were expecting Severus, weren't you?" Quirrell laughed, and it wasn't his usual quivering treble either, but cold and sharp. "Yes, Severus does seem the type, doesn't he? So useful to have him swooping around like an over-grown bat. Next to him, who would suspect p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Heri blinked up at the man talking to himself.

"Excuse me?" Was he asking if she had expected Professor _Snape _to be a paedophile? "Professor Snape's scarier than the national debt but he's nowhere near the type, sir."

Quirrell sneered at her.

"Many would disagree with you."

Quirrell snapped his fingers. Ropes sprang out of thin air and wrapped themselves tightly around Heri.

"You're too nosy to live, Potter. Scurrying around the school on Halloween like that, for all I knew you'd seen me coming to look at what was guarding the Stone."

"_You_ let the troll in, sir?" Hard to believe when he fainted at the sight of it. But what stone was he talking about and why was it being guarded?

"Certainly. I have a special gift with trolls — you must have seen what I did to the one in the chamber back there? Unfortunately, while everyone else was running around looking for it, Snape, who already suspected me, went straight to the third floor to head me off — and not only did my troll fail to beat you to death, that three-headed dog didn't even manage to bite Snape's leg off properly."

Well, that explained the limp Heri had noticed. She had thought it was the result of a prank gone wrong.

"Now, wait quietly, Potter. I need to examine this interesting mirror."

Again with the mirror. What the hell could a mirror do, especially one that looked old enough to fart dust? At least Quirrell was turning out to be a homicidal thief instead of a kiddy-toucher; she could forgive larceny, being a pervert was unforgivable.

"This mirror is the key to finding the Stone," Quirrell murmured, tapping his way around the frame. "Trust Dumbledore to come up with something like this . . . but he's in London . . . I'll be far away by the time he gets back . . ."

Well, she didn't know the headmaster very well but Heri felt that she owed enough to him as another person to try to prevent his property from being stolen. Unfortunately, she was a bit tied up at the moment and didn't have enough slack to do more than wiggle her fingers. All Heri could think of doing was to keep Quirrell talking and stop him from concentrating on the mirror.

"I saw Snape follow you into the Forest once!" said Heri, recalling an instance when she had looked out a window and saw the pair going into the Forbidden Forest. "He looked _dreadfully_ upset with you, sir."

"Yes," said Quirrell idly, walking around the mirror to look at the back. "He was on to me by that time, trying to find out how far I'd got. He suspected me all along. Tried to frighten me — as though he could, when I had Lord Voldemort on my side. . . ."

Gods above! Voldemort? When did _he _enter the situation? Heri's heart began to pump faster. Her current predicament was proving to be more dire than she had originally thought.

Quirrell came back out from behind the mirror and stared hungrily into it.

"I see the Stone . . . I'm presenting it to my master . . . but where is it?"

Harry struggled against the ropes binding her despite the fact that she knew they wouldn't give. If Voldemort was the one that was after whatever stone Quirrell was trying to get at, it meant nothing good for anyone else. Alas, all she could do was keep Quirrell from giving his whole attention to the mirror.

"Snape has always seemed to have something against me," commented Heri. If only she could get at her box-cutter! She kept it with her always, tucked into a hidden pocket she had sewn into her school skirts. "I never understood it since I don't remember doing anything to deserve resentment."

"Oh, he does," said Quirrell casually. "Heavens, yes. He was at Hogwarts with your father, didn't you know? They loathed each other."

Heri certainly _hadn't _known that. She supposed that explained it; Professor Snape did seem like the type to hold grudges.

"I heard you a few days ago, sobbing — I thought Snape was threatening you, sir; he's the one you argue with the most."

For the first time, a spasm of fear flitted across Quirrell's face.

"Sometimes," he said, "I find it hard to follow my master's instructions — he is a great wizard and I am weak —"

Heri gasped.

"You mean he was there in the classroom with you?"

By the gods, how had he managed to get on the grounds? The school was supposed to have the strongest wards in Britain!

"He is with me wherever I go," said Quirrell quietly. "I met him when I travelled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it . . . Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me." Quirrell shivered suddenly. "He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me . . . decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me . . ."

Quirrell's voice trailed away. Then he cursed under his breath.

"I don't understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?"

Oh, yes, that's a good idea, destroy the container of the thing you're after. That'll get you what you want. Heri silently rooted for Quirrell to decide to go the way of destruction just so she could laugh at him later.

What was looking in a mirror going to do for him anyway? Was it enchanted somehow? If filthy and hidden away was how all enchanted mirrors were kept, Heri would be severely disappointed. Still, she wanted to know what the big deal was. Maybe she should try looking in it like Quirrell was doing?

Heri tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around her ankles were too tight; she tripped and fell over. Damnation!

Quirrell ignored her. He was still talking to himself.

"What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!"

To Heri's amazement, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself.

"Use the girl . . . Use the girl . . ."

Quirrell rounded on Heri.

"Yes — Potter — come here."

He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off.

Heri got slowly to her feet. She would have made a run for it if it hadn't been for the flames that blocked the way on the other side of the door.

"Come here," Quirrell repeated. "Look in the mirror and tell me what you see."

Obviously, seeing into the mirror was some key part of the insane process. With luck, she'd be as unsuccessful as Quirrell.

Quirrell pushed her forward moved close behind her. Heri breathed in the funny smell that seemed to come from Quirrell's turban. She saw her reflection, ruffled and bewildered at first. A moment later, the reflection smiled at her. It put its hand into the pocket Heri had made and pulled out a blood-red stone. It winked and put the stone back. As it did so, Heri felt something heavy drop into her real pocket. Somehow — incredibly — she'd gotten the stone.

That was just her luck. What the bloody hell was she supposed to do with it?

"Well?" said Quirrell impatiently. "What do you see?"

Time to lie for Queen and Country. Harry shoved aside her hatred for falsehood and girded up all her audacity.

"I see myself shaking hands with Dumbledore," she invented. "I — I've won the House Cup for Hufflepuff, sir."

Quirrell cursed again.

What followed was the most horrifying thing Heri had ever experienced. The disembodied voice called her out on her lie and was then revealed to be Voldemort himself hitching a ride on the back of Quirrell's head like a flesh-eating parasite. He was chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake. There was some definite rotting going on at the edge of Voldemort's face where it met the rest of Quirrell's head. He must have been the funk coming from Quirrell's turban.

Gag.

"Mere shadow and vapour . . ." the ghastly wraith hissed. "I have form only when I can share another's body . . . but there have always been those willing to let me into their hearts and minds . . . Unicorn blood has strengthened me, these past weeks . . . and once I have the Elixir of Life, I will be able to create a body of my own . . ."

Not that Heri was complaining, but why did they keep informing her of every horrible thing they had done to get to this point? They obviously thought they were going to get away with it, but why were they chancing it by giving Heri a step-by-step outline of all their criminal activity? They might as well give her a hand-written time-line.

"Now . . ." Voldemort finally said. His eyes narrowed. "Why don't you give me that Stone in your pocket?"

Oh, bugger! She thought they hadn't realised. She stumbled backwards in alarm.

"Don't be a fool," snarled the face. "Better save your own life and join me . . . or you'll meet the same end as your parents . . . They died begging me for mercy . . ."

Fury filled her.

"LIAR!" Heri shouted. Her polite veneered disappeared once again. How dare he lie to her?! She remembered far back enough to know that neither of her parents gave any hint of pleading with that monster!

Voldemort made more false statements. He tried to pander to her ego while also guilting her into giving up. Too bad for him that the more he talked, the angrier Heri got.

"Your mother needn't have died . . . she was trying to protect you . . . Now give me the Stone, unless you want her to have died in vain."

Heri trembled in rage.

"NEVER!"

If he wanted the stupid rock, he'd have to pry it from her cold, dead hand!

Heri sprang toward the flaming doorway; if she was quick enough, she'd get away with minimal burning.

Voldemort screamed, "SEIZE HER!" and the next second, Heri felt Quirrell's hand close around her wrist. At once, a needle-sharp pain seared across Heri's scar. Her head felt as though it was about to split in two! She screamed, struggling with all her might, and to her surprise, Quirrell let go of her.

The pain in her head lessened. She looked around wildly to see where Quirrell had gone, and saw him hunched in pain, looking at his fingers — they were blistering before his eyes.

"Seize her! SEIZE HER!" shrieked Voldemort again, and Quirrell lunged, knocking Heri clean off her feet, landing on top of her, both hands around Heri's neck. Heri's scar was almost blinding her with pain, yet she could see Quirrell howling in agony.

"Master, I cannot hold her — my hands — my hands!" Quirrell — though pinning Heri to the ground with his knees — let go of her neck and stared, bewildered, at his own palms. Heri could see they looked burned, raw, red, and shiny.

"Then kill her, fool, and be done!" screeched Voldemort.

Heri saw red. Kill her? KILL HER?! SHE'D KILL THEM FIRST!

Quirrell raised his hand to perform a deadly curse, but Heri — by instinct — reached up and grabbed Quirrell's face.

"AAAARGH!"

Quirrell rolled off her, his face blistering.

Blistering. Heat. Flesh on flesh. Burning. Heri's fevered mind flickered through primitive thoughts the way an animal's would.

Pressing her advantage, Heri jumped to her feet, and caught Quirrell by the arm. Quirrell screamed and tried to throw Heri off but she put her abnormal strength to use and dragged him across the floor as he writhed. She pushed back the pain in her head and focused on the task at hand.

She heaved the howling man halfway up and threw him into the mirror with a resounding crash. Shards of glass came off embedded into his back. A thick shard gouged into Voldemort's eye. The wraith was screeching now.

"KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Heri snatched up a long, jagged shard and brought it down on Quirrell's front again and again. Her other hand was wrapped around Quirrell's forearm and the man convulsed, trying to jerk away from both attacks but having nowhere to go. Stab after stab, Heri brought down the sharp glass with as much force and speed she could muster.

By the gods, the pain in her head was staggering! Heri's head swam and her vision faded in an out as she relentlessly brought her weapon down on her foe. No, no, she wouldn't die here! Not by this wretched creature! But she found that her arms grew increasingly heavy; her muscles ached and her lungs burned. She didn't want to die there, but there was nothing she could do to put off the descent of her eye-lids.

Heri's bloodied fingers released their grip on her fragment of glass and she fell into the depths of blackness, down . . . down . . . down . . .

* * *

**A**lbus Dumbledore wasn't certain how he felt about Heri Potter. On one hand, she was a sweet girl that got along with students of every House, did well in her classes, and was the darling of the faculty, Severus included though he wouldn't admit it. On the other hand, her sorting had been a surprise, and she was turning out quite a bit differently than he had expected. A person was bound to surprise you every once and a while, true, but Heri was nothing like Albus had thought she would be.

He hadn't thought that a child of James and Lily Potter would be capable of quiet, what with how both of them were bold and fierce in their convictions, unbothered with letting other people know their thoughts. And yet Heri Potter was a very quiet girl, always willing to lend an ear to anyone that wanted to fill the air, and never did she volunteer to demonstrate anything in class. Soft-spoken, Pomona had told him. Heri was warm smiles and carefully worded statements in place of her parents' glowing grins and forthright declarations.

She wasn't the adventurous sort either. She showed no interest in the third floor corridor, not even after receiving the Invisibility Cloak. Albus had been so certain than no child would pass up the opportunity to get up to mischief at the chance of being invisible, but he was proven wrong. As far as he knew, Heri hadn't done more than carry it around with her; she hadn't even offered to lend it to the Weasley twins to assist them in their pranking.

She showed so much potential though! Albus had overheard students talking about the occasion wherein Heri had rescued another student by actually _punching _a bludger away. Then there was the mess on Halloween where she had physically beaten a fully grown Mountain Troll to death with its own club. Such physically-focused subconscious magic was astounding. He did feel dreadful that such a young girl had been forced to take a life — even if it was a troll's life — and in such in such a violent manner as well. He couldn't help but feel proud of her as she gamely made herself move on from the situation, especially when her friends took the opportunity to bring it up whenever they could. She certainly had the makings of a hero within her.

When Albus had arrived at the chamber of the Mirror of Erised that evening, he wasn't certain what had happened. Outside of the casual destruction Quirrell had wrought on his way through the obstacles, there had been no signs of struggle. That, of course, could be attributed to a simple '_mobilicorpus_' or perhaps he had stunned Heri before levitating her through. That didn't account for the shattered Mirror and horrendous bloodbath though.

Catching sight of the damage, Albus swore his heart skipped a beat. The girl was soaked through with blood! For a horrible moment, he was certain she was dead. His horror was abated when he discerned the movements of breathing coming from her. He rushed over to get a handle on the damage.

Glass was everywhere, on the floor, slicing into Quirrell's corpse, and even on Heri. There was a nasty gouge in her hand from where it appeared that a piece of glass had been shoved into her palm. He feared the worst and quickly performed rudimentary healing spells on her, breathing a sigh of relief a moment later when he checked her pulse and found it to be steady. That she was still going strong — relatively — after clearly surviving some kind of atrocious attack was a credit to her.

Carrying Heri to the Hospital Wing, Albus couldn't help but continue to wonder what in the world had happened in that chamber. There was clearly some sort of battle which Heri clearly won, but the method by which Quirrell had died worried him. The man was half ash, the other half filled with stab wounds. Remembering the strange gouging and slices in Heri's hand, Albus couldn't help but worry. Had _Heri _stabbed Quirrell to death? Did she actually have it in her to kill someone, and in such a horrific manner?

Well, that wasn't fair. From what Albus had observed, Heri was nowhere near an aggressive sort. She was the type to strike back only when she was cornered. Thinking on the Bludger and the troll, it was logical to conclude that Heri must somehow fall into a sort of panic-induced frenzy when her life was in danger, doing everything she could to make sure the threat was eliminated. He could hardly fault her for that, many people did the same albeit to a less deadly end.

Looking over the little girl now tucked into the infirmary bed, Albus wondered how the girl would cope once she came to. If she really had stabbed Quirrell, that was a cross she would bear for the rest of her life. She had taken a life albeit from a person seeking to do the same to her. She was only a child; could she withstand the weight that killing another person brought onto the soul? Only Heri could answer that and she was deeply under with a cocktail of potions to keep her asleep as she healed.

If she held strong, it would be another credit to her name, Albus concluded, stroking his beard in contemplation. Another sign of her potential.

* * *

**AN: **As a reference to the AN at the beginning of the chapter: I recall instance where girls used the name of male gods. I've met a guy whose girlfriend was named Jupiter, one of the Sailor Scouts from Sailor Moon was Mercury, and a book I've read had a female character named Apollo. I've also found that the name Kairos, a name predominately used by girls, is the name of a minor god, a son of Zeus. I think that's plenty of reason for me to say that I think Herakles should be used by girls too.


	3. Before Revelation pt 2

**AN: **Hello, all! Thanks for all the reviews with your guesses on who Heri's godly parent(s) is/are. I've gotten well thought-out explanations for the obligatory Olympian parent as well as the second parent/guardian. Those of you that suggested lesser known minor gods have me mightily impressed.

About Heri going to Camp Half-Blood: did you know that according to canon time-lines, Harry Potter is 13 years older than Percy Jackson? Harry Potter was 25 when the PJO series started. That means that at this point in my story, NONE of the Campers would be canon. Since I'm not much of a fan for OCs outside of minor situations, the answer is simple: Heri will have to wait until around the time PJO events start happening before she can go to Camp.

"_Wait, WHAT?! But she needs to go NOW! How will she blahblahblah?" _you say. No doubt there will be protests of her being too old and the like. Rest assured that Heri will _not _be all grown-up and therefore too old to pair-up with the boy/girl of your shipping. She _will _have interaction with the PJO characters and Percy; she _will_ have demigod training. I'm just not going to tell you how I'll make that work (TROLOLOLOL). I've actually had this planned out from the beginning so you won't be able to sway me into changing it either.

**P.S. **I've been debating with myself over whether or not Heri should end up a Champion for another deity. It could go either way really, but I don't want to end up with some 'ultra-special' Mary-Sue.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Before Revelation pt. 2**

* * *

**S**teely green eyes glinted in the late afternoon sun. The cries of agitated birds were like white-noise in an echoing hall, the whips of flapping wings were like a tidal wave washing over a hapless victim. Something gleaming whizzed through the air, finding it's mark in the still-beating heart of an owner to a pair of those thunderous wings.

A cut-off shriek; a violent explosion of dust; then silence.

For three heavy breaths, there was no motion.

As if they were one mind in multiple bodies, a flock of furious birds swarmed into the air, their feathers glinting, their talons like daggers. They converged upon the small form of their prey that dared to cull one of their numbers.

Before the monstrous birds could do any harm, another enemy came upon them, also from the air, taking more of them out before they knew what was happening. In the confusion of the sneak attack, the same blade that pierced the heart of the first beast was slashed through the necks of more.

Under the wounded screams of the dying creatures, uncompromising eyes narrowed.

* * *

**I**n a tidy little neighbourhood in southern England, within an upper-middle-class suburb, there was a well-equipped park for the use of the general public. In the middle were slides of differing heights, swings built for all ages, two sets of jungle gyms, a trio of see-saws, and a merry-go-round. A bit to the side had a basketball court and tether-ball poles. Up on a small hill was a respectable-sized sandbox that doubled as a volley ball court. On the other side of the play equipment was a fenced off tennis court. This park was a popular place for people all over the neighbourhood to come to when they wanted a bit of fresh air.

If one were to take a stroll past the picnic tables on the other side of the swings, they would find a stretch of field used for football and rugby, and a duck pond wherein balls were often tossed in. Sprouting up around the pond were trees children often dared each other to climb despite their parents' warnings. It was within one of these trees that a young girl was perched, idly watching the water-fowl milling about in the pond. It was late afternoon, a time other children the girl's age would have been expected to set out for home. Not so for this child; she had escaped the house only hours earlier after finishing her chores and wasn't eager to go trotting back just yet.

At first glance, one would say her wayward hair was black (as black as her soul, those that thought badly of her would say). A more thorough look would have a less judgemental person revising their answer; her hair was not black so much as it was an exceedingly dark brownish colour, a colour that resembled Coca-Cola when the drink was held up to the light. She could be called pale, but there was warm pigmentation under her skin that kept her from being called such. Her face was finely structured; her lips were rounded and of a purple-pink colour; her eyes were shaped like almonds and were an oddly deep shade of green. All in all, one would call her an attractive child. That is, ignoring the scar on her forehead, the obstinate clench of her jaw, and the off-putting air she gave off.

Heri Potter observed the frolicking ducks with an expression better suited on a Victorian psychiatric doctor contemplating an in-patient: clinical, nonplussed, with a touch of disgusted fascination. This was not because she was the mad scientist sort or the abusive Big Brother sort. No, it was because Hedwig was down there in duck form, shamelessly flirting with fowls of both genders, carrying on and thoroughly confusing the other birds.

Heri had been taking to staying out of the house for as long as she could manage since she had returned to Privet Drive for the summer. The Dursleys were amendable to such a plan and didn't bother her as long as she got her basic chores done every day. A bit of cooking in the morning and evening, some tidying up around the house, the gardening she enjoyed doing anyway, and then she was free to do as she liked. It probably wasn't the most responsible of the Dursleys to let their niece run as wild as they claimed she was, but 'not the most responsible' was exactly the way one would label them.

Heri had taken to long stretches of silence since she got back; not too different from the lack of things she had to say to her relatives before except for the fact that they could now almost feel the weight of those silences. Aunt Petunia had been the most unnerved, she being the one that spent the most time with Heri, and had demanded that Heri stay out of Petunia's presence as much as Heri could. Considering that Heri couldn't think any less lowly of her aunt, such a request was not a bother.

She had been feeling conflicted since she had woken up after that horrible evening with Quirrell. On one hand, he had endangered a school full of children, abducted her, tied her up, and eventually tried to kill her. She was well within her rights to defend herself even if it was to the point of offing him. She had absolutely no reason to feel guilty. On the other hand, she _didn't _feel guilty and she wasn't pretty certain that a normal person _would_ even if there was no reason to.

She was stuck between what was good and what was right.

Heri knew killing Quirrell had been the right thing to do; he had purposefully set a dangerous creature on the school he was supposed to be taking care of, he had tried to steal a powerful artefact and gift it to a genocidal maniac, and he had attacked her with full intention of killing her. Heri was in the right! But she was certain that killing _anybody_ wasn't what good people did. Heri tried very hard to be good despite what people said about her, and she was very unhappy that she had fallen to doing something that went against what she strove for. Add on top of that that she wasn't feeling bad in the least bit about taking Quirrell out, and Heri was wondering if she was just somehow an inherently bad person.

She had always believed that no one was born naturally good or bad, but what if she was wrong and she was bad? Had she been a criminal in a past life and had been reborn with wicked tendencies? The stories said that memories were washed away in the River Lethe, but memories weren't habits or personality traits, were they? Maybe Heri had been a serial killer that cheated the system somehow to be sent to the Fields of Asphodel instead of Punishment and had then gone on to drink from the Lethe to be reincarnated; maybe she was Jack the Ripper, version 2.0.

She had depressed herself into pieces over such thoughts. It was only Hedwig being her flamboyant self that brought Heri any joy lately.

One couldn't tell at first glance, but if Hedwig was human, she would be a drag queen. Well, maybe the flamingly homosexual best friend that television seemed to believe every girl should have, but definitely a cross-dressing one. There Heri was with her heart almost turning to stone the first time she saw the flesh-eating predator the year before, staring at her with the eyes of a cannibal, and it turned out the bird was as fruity as a flamingo. It was too big a discrepancy between impressions and Heri had considered the possibility that Hedwig had some sort of multiple-personality disorder.

Heri watched as Hedwig waddled after a harassed looking drake, his wings raised as if he was considering flying away. Hedwig was having nothing of the sort and clamped her beak down on the poor animal's tail-feathers. He honked in alarm and really did take flight, leaving several of his feathers in Hedwig's beak.

Heri snorted when Hedwig looked heavily offended.

"And what exactly did you plan on doing with that duck, Your Eminence? They're not in season and I don't think you're his type anyway."

Hedwig quacked derisively, as if to say, "What would _you _know?"

"Well, I'm no expert on the mating habits of ducks, but I think I know enough about men in general to say that if they're literally running away, they're not interested."

"Quack."

"I don't need to know about your worldly experience; I have enough social awareness to know that people trying to flee from you aren't trying to get friendly with you."

"Quack!"

"It doesn't matter if you were going to eat him afterwards, you're still doing it wrong!"

* * *

**F**or the third time since Heri came back from school, an argument had broken out at the breakfast table. This time around, Uncle Vernon had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from Heri's room and had been as pleased as he would have been had his dentist declared that he needed all his teeth pulled out

"Third time this week!" he roared across the table. "If you can't control that owl, it'll have to go!"

As if anyone could control Hedwig or do anything to her that she didn't want!

Heri tried, yet again, to explain.

"She's bored," Heri said. "She's used to flying around outside whenever she wants! If I could just let her out at night —"

"Do I look stupid?" snarled Uncle Vernon, a bit of fried egg dangling from his bushy moustache. Hell, _yeah_, he did. "I know what'll happen if that owl's let out." He exchanged dark looks with Aunt Petunia.

Heri was ready to tell the lump exactly what would happen if he didn't stop being such a paranoid prick but her words were drowned out by a long, loud belch from Dudley. She wrinkled her nose at him; disgusting boy.

"I want more bacon," the smaller lump said.

"There's more in the frying pan, sweetums," said Aunt Petunia, turning misty eyes on her massive son. "We must build you up while we've got the chance." Was the woman blind? Dudley could literally be rolled down the street. "I don't like the sound of that school food."

"Nonsense, Petunia, I never went hungry when I was at Smeltings," said Uncle Vernon heartily. "Dudley gets enough, don't you, son?"

Dudley, who was so large his bottom drooped over either side of the kitchen chair, grinned and turned to Heri.

"Pass the frying pan."

"You've forgotten the magic word," said Harry irritably. Really, were manners too much to ask for?

The effect of this simple sentence on the rest of the family was incredible: Dudley gasped and fell off his chair with a crash that shook the whole kitchen; Aunt Petunia gave a small scream and clapped her hands to her mouth; Uncle Vernon jumped to his feet, veins throbbing in his temples.

"I meant 'please'!" Heri tacked on when she realised what she had said.

"WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU," thundered his uncle, spraying spit over the table, "ABOUT SAYING THE 'M' WORD IN OUR HOUSE?"

"I —"

"HOW DARE YOU THREATEN DUDLEY!" roared Uncle Vernon, pounding the table with his fist.

"I just —"

"I WARNED YOU! I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!"

Heri had enough. She stood to her feet and roared back, "I'LL GIVE YOU ABNORMALITY, YOU BARKING BASKET-CASE! _YOU'RE_ THE ONE THAT LOSES HIS MIND AT THE MENTION OF ONE LITTLE WORD! _I'M_ THE ONE THAT'S NOT NORMAL? ANYONE ELSE WOULD HAVE YOU COMMITTED!"

Uncle Vernon swelled with indignity, ready to continue his shouting when Heri marched over to the open window, bringing attention to the alarmed neighbour peeking over the fence at them.

"Calm yourself down before we have the police pounding the door in," said Heri, frowning disapprovingly at the nosy woman. "It sounds like you're abusing me in here!"

She punctuated her statement with the slam of the closing window.

Heri stared from her purple-faced uncle to her pale aunt, who was trying to heave Dudley to his feet.

"It's one thing to not be accepting of something," said Heri. "It's another thing entirely go completely batty at anything that might have something to do with it. What part of all but ripping your hair out over something supposedly imaginary is _normal?_"

"I won't have it in this house!" Uncle Vernon insisted again, lowering his tone from the shock of seeing the woman next door listening in.

"Well, maybe if you just ignored my supposedly freaky traits and let Hedwig be outside more often than she's in her cage, it literally _wouldn't_ be_ in the house!_"

He made a low, impatient sound almost like a growl. "Fine!" snapped. "It stays outside from now on! I don't want to see hide or hair of it in this house ever again!"

Uncle Vernon sat back down, breathing like a winded rhinoceros and watching Heri closely out of the corners of his small, sharp eyes. Overactive toss-pot. Ever since Heri had come home for the summer holidays, he had been treating her like a bomb that might go off at any moment. Honestly, if he wanted to prevent her from going off, nattering on like a nutter wasn't the best way of achieving that.

Heri moved the frying pan from its place on the stove and sat it next to Dudley. The boy flinched but didn't hold himself back from going back to stuffing his face.

"I'm going to my room," Heri said, getting up from the table. "I'll let Hedwig know she's to stay outside."

Heri walked off without another word. She spent a good thirty minutes flinging her box-cutter at the dartboard before she calmed down enough to do more of her summer-reading.

* * *

"**S**o, you're telling me," said Heri, watching the strange creature with her arms crossed. "That someone is out to kill me again and that you believe I'll be safer staying here?"

"Yes, Miss!" the thing, Dobby the house-elf, squeaked.

Heri looked at him as if he were insane.

Heri had spent the rest of her day in her room, reading and napping. Uncle Vernon had some rich guy and his wife coming over for dinner and neither her aunt nor uncle had called her down to do the cleaning. Likely they thought she'd infect a plant with her magic or something. She had been stretched out on her bed in another snooze when something poked at her shoulder.

She had awoken to a little creature with large, bat-like ears and bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls crouching on the bed next to her. She had been too shocked to go for her box-cutter she kept under her pillow. The creature slipped off the bed and bowed so low that the end of its long, thin nose touched the carpet. Heri noticed that it was wearing what looked like an old pillowcase, with rips for arm- and leg-holes.

It had proceeded to tell her that it was a house-elf, and his name was Dobby. Dobby then launched into a fervent spiel about how she absolutely couldn't go back to Hogwarts because it had heard about a plot to plant something dangerous at the school and she couldn't return because she could die. Dobby was very insistent that Heri absolutely couldn't be allowed to die.

If it wasn't for the fact that she was looking forward to going back to school to get away from the Dursley's, Heri might have given the suggestion of staying at Privet Drive more merit.

"Listen, Dobby, I appreciate you coming here to warn me, but I don't think it would be a good idea for me to stay."

Dobby looked distraught. "But, Miss—!"

"_Listen. _From what you've said, it doesn't sound like they're after me in particular. That means that something's going to happen that will affect _everyone_ at school. It's nice that you think I'm important enough to be kept away specifically, but everyone else would still be in danger. If I stay here and don't get a chance to tell anyone about it, lots of people could get hurt."

"Heri Potter is brave and noble," said Dobby, his eyes filling with tears as he stared up at her with stark adoration.

"Tell you what," Heri continued. "I'll send a letter to the Headmaster and warn him that something bad's going to happen. I'll tell him that I've been told that I could be killed if I go back, and that I've been advised to stay away. This way, the school can be made more secure and hopefully whatever trouble that'll happen can be stopped at once. Does that sound alright to you, Dobby?"

Dobby bowed his head. "Albus Dumbledore is being the greatest headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. Dobby knows it, Miss. Dobby has heard Dumbledore's powers rival those of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the height of his strength. But, Miss," — Dobby's voice dropped to an urgent whisper — "there are powers Dumbledore doesn't . . . powers no decent wizard . . ."

He seemed on the verge of doing himself harm and Heri caught a hold of him before he could disturb her relatives.

"I see you're very bothered by this," she said. "But I can't in good conscience hang around with the muggles while the school is in danger. People need to be warned at the very least."

Dobby did not look convince.

"I won't make it far in the world without an education, Dobby," Heri pointed out. "Not going back to school just isn't an option. How about . . . how about this? You seem to know a good deal about what's going on even though you can't tell me about it. Since you seem to be the clever sort that gets around without being caught, maybe you can be my bodyguard while I'm at school. You won't have to be around all the time of course, I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with your family, but if it makes you feel better, you can watch out for me."

Dobby was thrilled. He immediately let Heri know how he thought about her suggestion by pelting her with words of thanks.

"Heri Potter, Miss, is the greatest witch in the world!" He squealed. "Miss is being good enough to listen to what Dobby has to say!"

"Of course I'll listen to you. You've come to help me out, haven't you? It would be poor manners to not take you seriously." Heri walked over to her desk and pulled out a bit of paper to write on. "I'll write Professor Dumbledore right now so you won't have to worry about that anymore. I dare say Hedwig would love to have a letter to carry out. I don't do much letter writing you see, don't get much mail either. Hedwig must get terribly bored as my mail owl."

While Heri wasn't looking, Dobby froze up and looked dreadfully guilty. When she noticed the cheery creature's odd silence, Heri looked up with her letter still in her hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked, giving the house-elf a once-over.

Dobby fidgeted. "Heri Potter mustn't be angry with Dobby. Dobby did it for the best —"

Heri didn't like the sound of that one bit.

"Dobby, what have you done?" Her tone was flat and uncompromising.

Dobby blinked anxiously up at her.

"Heri Potter, Miss, mustn't be angry . . . Dobby hoped . . . if Miss thought her friends had forgotten her . . . Heri Potter might not want to go back to school, Miss . . ."

"_Have you been taking my mail?_" Heri was appalled. Gods! Had her friends from school been writing her then? They must be terribly cross at her for not replying.

"Dobby has them here, Miss," said the elf.

He pulled a thick wad of envelopes from the inside of the pillowcase he was wearing. Heri could make out Hannah's neat writing on the top of the pile, Ernie's hasty scrawl, and more of the like. It looked like anyone she had ever been friendly with at school had written to her. She even saw a scribble that looked as though it was from Hagrid.

If the Dursleys hadn't told her to make sure their dinner guests didn't know she existed, she would be shouting.

"_Dobby . . ._" Heri hissed. Her eyes narrowed in irritation. "It's one thing to try to keep me from school. It's something else completely to steal my mail. It's a criminal offence among the muggles!"

Dobby tugged at his ears in contrition.

"Dobby is sorry, Miss! Dobby didn't know what else to do!"

Heri sighed huffily.

"Oh, just give them here."

She stuck out her opened hand wherein Dobby placed the bundled stack. She placed the stack on her desk and gave it a bothered glare.

"I'll be up all night writing replies!"

The house-elf babbled out words of apology but Heri merely waved them off.

"Just don't do something like this again," she told him.

Dobby nodded enthusiastically in response.

* * *

**R**on Weasley wasn't sure what he had been expecting when he was told they were going to pick up Heri Potter and bring her home with them. The plan was insane and they were definitely going to get caught, no way was their Mum going to miss them not being in the house at the same time Dad's car went missing. Still, Fred and George invited him along when he had caught them sneaking out of the house and he wasn't about to turn down the chance of seeing pretty _Heri Potter _again, especially up close.

The neighbourhood they arrived in looked nothing like what Ron had imagined the place where Heri would live would look like. He had been expecting bigger and cooler. Not that the houses weren't tidy and organized, but it just didn't feel like a place where a hero would live.

"Which house was it, again?" Ron heard George say from the driver's seat.

Fred scanned the area. He replied, "Number 4."

George had the invisibility on so Dad's turquoise muggle vehicle was slowly gliding at roof-level down the street as the boys peered out at the numbers written on the houses. Odd numbers on one side and evens on the other, and they had just passed Number 2 and 3 so —

"There it is!" Ron exclaimed, jabbing his finger on the glass at the house in question.

George pulled the car in closer so they could get a look into the windows. Heri had never said anything about her relatives while at school but the trio of boys simultaneously decided that alerting the muggles that they were there and hoping to take Heri away with them was a bad idea.

All the lights were out so those within were clearly sleeping. The first window they checked had a sleeping couple within, obviously Heri's aunt and uncle. They glided away and turned the corner of the house to check the next window. They were in luck; the curtains were open and the sleeping figure in the bed beneath the sill had the dark mess of curls distinctive to Heri Potter.

George shimmied closer to the side of the house with the passenger side of the car pointed at the window.

"Go wake her," George whispered to Fred, nudging his twin's shoulder.

Fred did was as he was told, lowering the window of the car door and leaning out of it as far as he could without falling. He tapped on the window softly at first, but then knocked more distinctly when she showed no sign of waking up.

"Heri!" Fred whispered harshly, smacking the glass with the flat of his palm. She couldn't have heard him through the glass but she jolted awake all the same.

Ron saw her reach under her pillow pulled something out from underneath it. It must have been something shocking because Fred gaped at her.

"_What's she doing with a knife?_" Fred breathed.

Heri Potter slept with a knife under her pillow? It sounded like what a hero would do but it didn't match up with the Heri's personality.

Heri leaned into the window to get a better look at them. Her eyes widened in shock. Ron could see her mouth, "Fred?" before she slid open her window and leaned out.

"Fred, how did you — What the — ?"

"Here now, I'm George!" Fred protested. Trust the twins to get their jokes in whenever they could squeeze them.

Heri gave him the flattest look Ron had ever seen.

"Don't even try to kid me; I can tell you two apart perfectly fine!"

"Oh?" George chimed in, leaning over to peer past Fred. "Do tell how you've managed _that._"

Heri huffed.

"Forget telling you two apart! What are you lot doing here?" She shot a bewildered glance at Ron in the backseat. "Where did you even get a flying car?"

"A better question would be why haven't you been answering any of our letters?" Fred contradicted. "We've sent you about twelve inviting you to come over but haven't gotten a single one in reply!"

Heri ruffled her mussed hair.

"I've been having mail troubles since the beginning of summer," she told them. "I haven't been getting _any_ of my letters until just recently and just got them all in bulk the night before. I haven't sent you a reply yet because I'm still sifting through them. I would love to come over, by the way."

"How did _that _happen?" Ron chimed in, lowering his own window. "I've never heard of owls delivering letters to the wrong place. Usually, when an owl can't get to the person the letter's for, they'll just return home with it."

She smiled wryly.

"Someone was taking them off the owls before I could get at them. It's all been sorted now so no worries."

"If you say so." Fred shrugged. He clapped his hands decisively. "Now! Let's get your stuff in the car and get out of here!"

Heri's eyes widened.

"You mean right now! I'll never hear the end of it next summer if I leave now!"

"It's now or never, munchkin," said Fred. "We've only got the car for tonight and we won't get another chance like this any time soon."

"Oh, alright," Heri sighed. "Just help me get my stuff ready. My uncle has my trunk in the cupboard under the stairs and none of my clothes are folded."

Huh, Ron thought. He hadn't expected Heri Potter to fold so easily into doing something that was definitely against the rules. Didn't seem the type. Ron had thought the twins would have to fast-talk her into it.

Heri stepped back to make room for Fred as he opened the car door and pulled himself through her window. George climbed through after. As the twins crept out her room ("Watch out for the bottom stair — it creaks."), Heri flitted about, tossing things into one of those bags girls always had on them.

"Here," she said, handing the bag over to Ron when she was finished. Ron took the bag and tucked it under the seat in front of him to make space.

The twins came back, panting a bit at the trudge from downstairs. Fred climbed back into the car to pull with Ron while Heri and George pushed from the bedroom side. Inch by inch, the trunk slid through the window. They all breathed out a sigh of relief when they got it in without much trouble.

"Hurry up!" Fred said as George climbed back into the driver's seat. He gestured to the space left in the back seat as he slid back into the passenger seat.

"Just let me . . ." Heri bent over her desk and scribbled something on a scrap of paper left behind. She then left the page on her bed before pulling herself up through the window.

"I've left them a note," she told them. "I doubt they'll care over much but I figured it couldn't hurt to give them a bit of notice."

She swung herself into the seat next to Ron where he finally got a proper look at her. She was bare-foot and dressed in a sort of long-sleeved sleeping shirt that came down to her thighs. Ron would have thought she was wearing the shirt and nothing else if it hadn't been for the slip of striped shorts he saw while she settled herself. She had grown some over the summer; Ron covertly appreciated the subtle curve of her breasts as she stretched tiredly.

"One more thing!" Heri said as George revved the engine. She leaned out her window and put her cupped hands to her lips. The hoot of an owl rang out, sounding as if it came from Heri. As if summoned, a Snowy owl swooped in after a moment.

"We're off to the Weasleys' house," Heri said to the bird. "You're free to do as you please of course but I'll have some letters waiting for delivery some time tomorrow if you're up to it."

The owl chuffed amicably and flew off.

Heri grinned at them.

"Right then! All set."

Ron wasn't certain what he had been expecting when his older brothers said they were going to bring Heri Potter home to visit, but he certainly hadn't expected the lengths they had to go through to get her there.

* * *

_**D**ear Hagrid, _

_I'm sorry I haven't replied until now, but I've been having trouble getting my post this summer; I got everything in bulk only a few days ago. I've been penning replies like mad since I got my letters so I hope you'll forgive me if my handwriting is not as neat as usual._

_I'm currently staying with the Weasley family. The Twins and their younger brother came to get me from my relatives' house, extending an invitation for me to stay over with them. Naturally, I agreed, and I've found the company to be very agreeable. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley treat me like their own child and it's been great fun seeing how a magical family functions. _

_Mrs. Weasley knows so many useful spells that I never considered might have existed (spells for taking care of little things like cooking and mending) and I can't wait to try them out myself. They also have this fascinating clock with all of their names on the hand that point to things like 'at school', 'at work', and 'in mortal danger.' I have a pocket watch I'm rather fond of that shows days, weeks, months, moon cycles, and planetary movements on top of the standard hours and minutes; do you think I might be able to enchant it to have a setting where it does what the Weasleys' clock does? I think that would be terribly useful._

_I have gotten to know the other families that live nearby as well. The Diggorys have a son named Cedric in the same year as Fred and George who's in Hufflepuff. He's a nice chap but he's not around much since he goes out with his friend quite often. The Lovegoods have a daughter that's going to be a first year this year named Luna. She's a sweet girl though she does seem a bit absent-minded. I haven't met the Fawcetts yet but I've been told they have a daughter in Ravenclaw. Do you know any of them, Hagrid? I suspect you know quite a lot about all the families that have children in Hogwarts._

_Thank you for the birthday present you sent me by the way. The cake was delicious and dragon figurine is great fun to play with. Hedwig appreciates the figurine as well. Was it supposed to be a reference to Norbert and Enoch? I hope so since it reminds me quite a bit of both of them. I have named it Ignis because of the lovely fire it creates. I'm hoping to learn an engorging charm soon so I can make Ignis big enough for Enoch to play with._

_Anyway, there's not much else to say except thank you for writing. I wasn't expecting any mail and it was a pleasant surprise when I saw how many letters was waiting for me._

_I hope to talk to you more when school starts up again. Our usual tea times?_

_Love, _

_Heri_

_P.S. I find the youngest two Weasleys to be very odd. Ron and Ginny do quite a bit of absolute nonsense whenever I see them. When I first met her, Ginny trod on her night-gown and managed to trip **up **the stairs. Just this morning, when I asked Ron question, he turned almost purple and put his elbow in the butter dish. I asked Fred and George about it, but they just gave me secretive smirks. What do you suppose is wrong with them?_

* * *

**A**fter being misplaced during Floo travelling, stumbling around a shady shopping district only to be save by Hagrid at the last minute, dashing about with the Twins and Ron for school supplies, and then being shoved about in a ruddy bookstore, Heri was in no state of mind to deal with pretentious pretty-boys with nothing but their looks to go on.

Flourish and Blotts had been the place Heri was looking forward to the most. She hadn't thought to look up books about the Olympians the year before, what with her too distracted by other pressing matters, but she had put it at the top of her to-do list for this year. Heri had thought to pop in, get a clerk to point her in the right direction, and them pop back out a few minutes later; that plan was being stomped all over by the toothy clown taking up breathing space in the middle of the store at the moment.

Gilderoy Lockhart. Apparently, he was some big-shot adventurer that jumped on every chance to kill himself via dangerous creature. Failing that, he wrote books about the nonsense he got up to and wrote them in the same manner one would for a children's book. He was a popular author and had housewives swooning after him, Mrs. Weasley included.

Heri didn't understand the appeal. Sure, he was story-book dashing, but there didn't appear to be much substance underneath. Really, just look at how he titled his books! Wandering with Werewolves? Voyages with Vampires? Was he writing autobiographies or a fantasy series? Not only that, but the underlying feel of the books irked her as well. Heri had no problem with people that had an incurable affliction, but she didn't see the point of actively searching them out. It was like discrimination; sure he was hanging out with them, but he was doing that _because _they were werewolves and vampires, not for who they were as people.

And now she had been pulled in by the same insubstantial blow-hard to pose for pictures for _The Daily Prophet._

Lockhart had caught sight of Heri when Ron made a disparaging remark loud enough to catch the sparkly blond's attention. He had leaped to his feet like the chair had burned his arse and shouted, "It _can't _be Heri Potter!"

Oh, she couldn't, could she? Then why had he dragged her forward for the crowd to gap at? She had pasted a bewildered but amicable smile on her face and waved to the excited audience.

Lockhart took her free hand and bent to place a gallant kiss on it as the photographer, the one Ron had snarked about, hopped about like mad, clicking away like his job was on the line. The herd of excitable females swooned and sighed at Lockharts 'chivalry.'

Lockhart straightened as the photographer motioned for them to stand together.

"Nice big smile, Heri," he said through his own gleaming teeth. "Together, you and I are worth the front page."

So that was his game. Well, she supposed if he was trying to amp up his reputation as some monster-hunter/adventurer, being seen on friendly terms with a national hero who's been celebrated for over ten years would only do him favours. Not one to make public scenes, Heri smiled sweetly as requested, blinking cutely up at the man shoving a camera in her face.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said loudly, waving for quiet. "What an extraordinary moment this is! The perfect moment for me to make a little announcement I've been sitting on for some time!"

Lockhart went on to present Heri with the stupid autobiography that he was doing book-signings for that day and expounded how he was going to blah blah blah. Heri put on a face of avid attention, but really she had tuned him out the moment he had oped his mouth. Something about being a teacher? Somehow, Heri doubted he had the proper amount of N.E.W.T.s for that. Well, she got the entire book-list for DADA off of him for free during his speech so she guessed it wasn't all bad.

He eventually freed her and she rejoined the Weasleys where they stood off to the side near the middle of the crowd. She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled wryly for the waiting redheads, sharing a commiserating eye-roll with the boys. She had most of her books now and all she had to do was see one of the clerks at the counter to get the rest, then she could find the books on the Greco-Roman mythology she wanted. The side-stop with the grinning goon was an annoyance but now there was nothing standing in her way.

Then Malfoy showed up with his father in tow. The situation went as well as could be expected.

* * *

**H**eri stood amidst the exclaiming crowd families and students waiting for the last call to sound. She had excused herself from the Weasleys by claiming to go look for her other friends. After dashing off a goodly distance to where the Weasleys could no longer spot her, Heri very purposefully slipped behind a pillar and threw her invisibility cloak over herself. Now unseen, she took in cheerful atmosphere with the same melancholy she had the year before.

"Did you hear about —?"

"Tildy, over here!"

"Watch your mouth, young man!"

"— and then I said —"

"Mum, look, _look!_"

They were all so _bright. _They shone so intensely under Heri's unnatural sight. Was it because she quite literally saw with different eyes? It was at times like this that she wished she was as half-blind as she had been before her vision was corrected and improved. Then she wouldn't be able to see the contentment written so clearly on others' faces, their expressions shining in a way Heri knew she had never shined.

Was she just being a pessimist? She'd been prone to dreary moods in private for months now, maybe she was just depressing herself.

"— Heri yet?"

Heri looked up at the sound of her name. A few paces off, halfway between the train and her, were Hannah and Sally-Anne, her two unofficial lieutenants; if Hufflepuffs were cutthroat enough for cliques, the two other girls would be her second and third in command respectively. They were scanning the crowd and looking anxious.

"Haven't seen her," said Sally-Anne, idly twirling the end of her long braid through her fingers.

Hannah huffed and crossed her arms.

"It's almost eleven! Much longer and she'll miss the train!"

"She has to be here already," Sally-Anne consoled. "Didn't she say she was coming with the Weasleys? They're right over there so Heri has to be _somewhere _around here_._"

Before Hannah could go question the family of redheads, Heri pulled the invisibility cloak off and stepped out from behind the pillar.

"There you are!" Heri chirped. "I was just looking for you!"

"Heri!" they exclaimed in unison. They bounded over to her and pulled her into a group hug.

The three girls bustled off to the train to find a compartment before all the good ones were taken. As Hannah chattered Heri's ear off about the latest news, a flicker out of the corner of her eye caught Heri's attention. Stepping up on the train, Heri sent a grateful smile at her guardian apparition.

* * *

**I**t should be known that Heri Potter was the centre-piece of an eclectic assortment of children, the sort that might not have come together if it wasn't for her acting as the drawing force. It was often believed that Hufflepuffs were all the open-armed, exceedingly friendly sort, but those within knew that just because Helga Hufflepuff made it so anyone that didn't fit in the other three Houses were welcomed didn't mean they were all snuggle-buddies singing Kumbaya around the fire. Sure, they weren't exclusive and cruel in their groupings and pecking order like the Slytherins were, but they still had social structuring. It went without saying that an internationally famous person like Heri would be at the top of the subtle hierarchy, and that her friends would be up there as well.

There was no denying that they originally gravitated to her because she was a living legend, a heroine straight out of their bedtime stories; they were children and they were shallow. They came to stay when they discovered that Heri was genuinely someone they admired and cared for by her own merits, but the hero-worship never completely faded.

The first was Megan Jones, the first one that approached Heri when she had been Sorted. Megan was a scatter-brained chatterbox, the sort that delighted in gossip and scandals but wasn't mean enough to spread rumours herself. She was from a middle-class family and her parents ran a successful apothecary. She had an older sister that played Quidditch professionally, but Megan herself was not sporty. If she hadn't made friends with Heri, she likely would have ended up a Quidditch groupie, squealing over the players with the other fan-girls.

After Megan came Zacharias Smith. He was a prickly sort, almost as haughty and stuck-up as Malfoy but not as aggressive. He made himself quite plain when he started to hangout with Heri's crowd, letting everyone know right off the bat that he didn't like most of them at all and that he was only sticking around because he was friends with Ernie and that he wasn't about to associate with a group of lesser prestige. He often poked fun of Wayne and sneered at Megan but redeemed himself through the fact that he didn't discriminate when being a jerk; he was an equal-opportunity arsehole. He was an only child and the heir to the House of Smith, a minor family but one that dated back thousands of years.

Acting as Zacharias' buffer was Ernie Macmillan. He and Zarcharias acted like Yin and Yang, and Ernie being the cheery one out of the pair. He was a pleasant sort, a laid-back smooth-talking bloke that one would expect from a Noble Family. He had been earnest in his pursuit of Heri's friendship though he wasn't blind to the fact that such an association would make him 'cooler.' He had learned over the summer from his father that the House of Macmillan and the House of Potter had a formal alliance and it had made him even more glad that he had sought Heri out. He was an only child and the heir to the House of Macmillan, a family that since the 1400s had been lords of one of the Unplottable counties that the wizards had taken with them when they separated from them Muggles.

Hannah Abbot was from another Noble family, though nowhere near as old as Ernie's, Zacharias', or even Heri's since her family got their title only half a decade before the Statute of Secrecy was set into place. She had made friends with Heri when she saw how ruffled Heri was when the first wave of fans set upon her and decided to help her out. Hannah was another girl that could have gone to Gryffindor but ultimately ended up in Hufflepuff because of her loyalty. She was snarling wildcat in the face of those she deemed under her protection — those currently being everyone in their circle of friends — and wasn't afraid to smack a bitch if it came down to it. (It came down to it only once so far when a nosy Ravenclaw a year older than them tried poking at Heri's scar with her wand; the girl had been sent crying to the Hospital wing with hideous acne that resembled tentacles.) Ernie had once joked that if Heri was a mafia boss, Hannah would have been her right hand.

Sally-Anne Perks would have been the shallowest one of the bunch if it wasn't for the fact that she honestly thought she was just being a good friend. Sally-Anne was a muggleborn that opted for a magical education instead of going to a school for performing arts like her family had originally planned. She was always caught up in her appearance and doling out fashion advice to the rest of them; she was the stereotypical blonde and wasn't ashamed of it in the least bit. In some ways, she was the most popularity-driven one of the lot, she was always aware of how she looked and scolded the others when they did lame things. In other ways, she was the most unbothered: she genuinely didn't care that Heri was the Girl Who Lived; to Sally-Anne, Heri was cool because Heri was talented and charismatic. She was the definition of a ditz but she was well-intentioned.

Last came Wayne Hopkins, one that had definitely got into Hufflepuff for not being the type that any of the other Houses valued. He was a half-blood that had been raised by his widowed muggleborn mother in the non-magical world. He was a smart boy but nowhere near driven enough for Ravenclaw, what with his lack of regard for learning for the sake of learning. Truthfully, he didn't have much going on for him expect for the fact that he got on well with pretty much anyone. He would have been the poster-boy for the sort that the other Houses thought Hufflepuffs were like if it wasn't for the fact that he was quick enough to know how to make friends in high places, with Heri, Hannah, Ernie, and Zacharias buffing up their real-world social standing. Zacharias and Sally-Anne might have been put off by him for their reasons, but Heri honestly enjoyed his company, he being the sort that she had protected from bullies back during primary school.

Yes, they were an odd bunch, the oddest grouping out of all of those in Hufflepuff, but they had not only prestige on their side, they also had numbers: seven was the biggest number of kids in a circle within one House, the group usually being three or four if it was confined to one House. In a few more years, they would be force to be reckoned with.

* * *

**A**fter the Start-of-Term Feast, Heri sought out her Head of House. She had sent her dorm-mates up to bed ahead of her after Professor Sprout finished her address to the first-years about being in Hufflepuff. Heri caught the older lady as she was about to return to her office.

"Professor?" said Heri. "Has the Headmaster said anything to you about the letter I sent him this summer?"

Professor Sprout looked curious.

"A letter? No, he's said nothing to me about a letter. If you wanted to tell me something, dearie, you'd be better off sending a note to me directly."

"Oh, well, the letter really was for Professor Dumbledore, but I thought he might have said something to you about it since I doubt keeping it a secret would do any good."

"Goodness! What's all this about then?"

"Well, this summer, someone came to warn me about a plot they overheard," Heri explained. "He was really quite frantic about it; something about planting a dangerous object and powers no decent person would involve themselves in. He told me that he believed that I was in danger of getting killed, and he advised me to not come back to school. Naturally, I sent off a letter to the Headmaster at once because if I would be in danger, everyone else would be in danger as well. I thought all the professors would have been told about it."

Professor Sprout looked alarmed.

"If it isn't one thing, it's another," said the professor, rubbing her eyes. She looked at Heri sharply. "You were very smart to let the school know about this, dear. Merlin only knows what kind of mess would be on our hands if we were all sitting in the dark!"

"Yes, ma'am. I wasn't going to just not say anything, of course!"

The professor patted Heri on the shoulder.

"You can go on off to bed now; I'm going to see the Headmaster about this right away."

* * *

**L**ockhart proved himself to be as useful as fur on a banana. Heri had thought there was some quick-wittedness under all that idiocy — what with how he showed publicity-awareness when she met him — but any credit she might have given him was wiped off the board by his blatant incompetence.

"He's so dreamy!" Megan had sighed as they had reviewed their textbooks the night before. "Like a prince out of a fairytale!"

Sally-Anne had made a vague sound of agreement.

"He certainly looks the part; his hair is magnificent. I wonder what shampoo he uses."

It soon evident that his looks was all Lockhart had to work with, not that his fangirls would admit to that.

Earlier that day, when Hufflepuff was having Herbology with Gryffindor, he had been getting in Professor Sprout's way while she had been tending to some of her more dangerous plants.

"Just been showing Professor Sprout the right way to doctor a Whomping Willow!" Lockhart had said, looking as fresh as a spring daisy while the Herbology professor was as grimy as one was supposed to look after playing in dirt. "But I don't want you running away with the idea that I'm better at Herbology than she is! I just happen to have met several of these exotic plants on my travels . . ."

Professor Sprout, who had looked distinctly disgruntled, had sent them off to the designated greenhouse gruffly, not at all her usual cheerful self. Dealing with idiots did that.

The smiling menace made himself a bigger bother when he pulled Heri aside before she could enter the greenhouse and began edifying himself under the thinnest veneer of offering her 'fame advice.'

"Heri, Heri, Heri," Lockhart had said, reaching out and grasping her shoulder. "I understand. Natural to want a bit more once you've had that first taste — and I blame myself for giving you that, because it was bound to go to your head — but see here, young lady, you can't go shouting about attacks on the school to try and get yourself noticed. Just calm down, all right? Plenty of time for all that when you're older."

_Excuse him? _Had he been told about the letter she sent Dumbledore and took it as her trying to get attention? Was he a complete moron? Heri resented being called a show-off almost as much as she hated being called a liar. She couldn't completely conceal her disdain for him.

Lockhart saw her expression but misunderstood it entirely.

"Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking! 'It's all right for him, he's an internationally famous wizard already!' But when I was twelve, I was just as much of a nobody as you are now." — Heri's jaw clenched. A tingle ran down her throwing arm. — "In fact, I'd say I was even more of a nobody! I mean, a few people have heard of you, haven't they? All that business with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!"

He glanced at the lightning scar on her forehead.

"I know, I know — it's not quite as good as winning Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award five times in a row, as I have — but it's a _start_, Heri, it's a _start_."

He gave Heri a hearty wink and strode off.

Heri stood stunned at the utter gall of the man for a few seconds before she remembered that the great braggart had made her late for class. She prayed heatedly to Eris for the worst of luck to befall him before she stiffly realigned herself into character and went to join her class. She was so outraged that she only paid half of her attention to the lesson on mandrakes.

If all that wasn't enough, the preening peacock had made a spectacle of himself later that day during DADA.

Heri had walked in, accompanied by the usual swarm surrounding her. She had managed to get a seat comfortably in the middle, where she would become one of the faces in the crowd, thus unlikely to be called on during lesson. When the whole class was seated, Lockhart cleared his throat loudly and silence fell. He reached forward, picked up Neville's copy of _Travels with Trolls_, and held it up to show his winking portrait on the front.

"Me," he said, pointing at it and winking as well. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin: Third Class, Honorary Member of the Dark Force Defence League, and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most-Charming-Smile Award — but I don't talk about that. I didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by _smiling_ at her!"

He waited for them to laugh; a few people smiled weakly.

Honestly, he _'doesn't talk about that'_? That was the second time he had mentioned the useless award just this morning.

"I see you've all bought a complete set of my books — well done. I thought we'd start today with a little quiz. Nothing to worry about — just to check how well you've read them, how much you've taken in —" When he had handed out the test papers he returned to the front of the class and said, "You have thirty minutes — start — _now!_"

The test was a joke, it had nothing to do with defending themselves and everything to do with Lockhart. It wasn't even mostly about the monsters he had fought either, there were questions about his personality and personal habits. Heri was offended even entertaining the thought of knowing the answers to such questions; she felt molested just by reading the words.

"Tut, tut — hardly any of you remembered that my favourite colour is lilac." (Since when was knowing the teacher's favourite colour a part of the curriculum? Heri tried to imagine what a Potions class would be like if Snape asked for his favourite colour during a lecture.) "I say so in _Year with the Yeti_. And a few of you need to read _Wanderings with Werewolves_ more carefully — I clearly state in chapter twelve that my ideal birthday gift would be harmony between all magic and non-magic peoples — though I wouldn't say no to a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky!" He gave them another wink.

Heri was embarrassed just listening to him talk. She resisted the urge to hid her face in her hands. That he could say such things so shamelessly! A good lot of the others were eating it up though; Heri thought she saw Hermione Granger of all people sighing like she was trying to expel her heart through her mouth.

Lockhart completed his failure of an attempt at teaching by releasing a cage of Cornish Pixies on the unsuspecting class. And then he tried to 'save' them.

"_Peskipiksi pesternomi!_"

Bugger. Him.

Heri didn't need her Latin classes to know that such an incantation was as effective as shouting 'hocus pocus!' It was regular English trying to pass off as Latin! Pesky pixie, pester no me? Mangling one's native tongue didn't make it a spell.

Lesser known fact: Cornish Pixies were a part of a subcategory of Magical Creatures called the Fae, technically demons but not malevolent enough to be called Dark Creatures. The ones that called themselves Unseelie were outright amoral, 'paying a tithe to Hell' every seven years, but they generally left wizards alone enough that the Ministry didn't put restrictions on them. Another reason for the lack of censure against the Fae was the fact that their biggest weakness — iron — was the easiest material for a wizard to manipulate; even the shoddiest of wand-waver could conjure iron and do a bit of Transfiguring on it. It was with all this knowledge that Heri transfigured a splintered chair leg — one that was broken off while students were fleeing the room — into a pile iron needles and charmed them to fling themselves at the flying menaces.

The Cornish Pixies might have had the intelligence levels of squirrels but they made up for it with great survival instincts. Once the iron came hurling, they scattered faster than an overturned ant-pile; the ones that had been hoisting Neville up by his ears dropped him faster than a hot potato. Their high-pitched shrieks of pain when she landed a hit on one of them was music to Heri's ears.

Heri had had quite enough of Lockhart's nonsense. He had tried to run off the moment the pixies threw his wand outside so if the prancing prat got an impromptu ear piercing while Heri was herding the pesky blighters out of the windows . . . well, there was no one that could hold it against her.

* * *

**C**olin Creevey was an endearing boy that would have been far easier to put up with if it wasn't for his blasted picture-taking habit.

Heri and her posse had been hanging out by their favourite fountain in the Charms Courtyard, relaxing between classes. They had been talking about what they had gotten up to over the summer when Heri became aware that she was being watched. Looking up while laughing at a joke Ernie had told, she saw a very small, mousy-haired boy staring at her as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like a muggle camera, and the moment Heri looked at him, he went bright red.

"All right, Heri?" he said breathlessly, taking tentative steps forward. Heri's crowd observed the boy closely, eyeing him as if he were a threat. "I'm — I'm Colin Creevey; I'm in Gryffindor. D'you think — would it be all right if — can I have a picture?" he said, raising the camera hopefully.

"A picture?" Heri repeated. She glanced at Hannah from the corner of her eye. Hannah had been the one that had buckled down against the people that crowded her for pictures the year before when she saw how overwhelmed Heri was by them. As expected, Hannah had crossed her arms and was looking at Creevey with a flinty stare.

"So I can prove I've met you," said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. "Everyone's told me so much about you. About how you survived when You-Know-Who tried to kill you and how he disappeared and everything and how you've still got a lightning scar on your forehead." His eyes raked Heri's hairline.

"A boy in my dormitory said if I develop the film in the right potion, the pictures'll _move_." Colin drew a great shuddering breath of excitement and said, "It's _amazing_ here, isn't it? I never knew all the odd stuff I could do was magic till I got the letter from Hogwarts. My dad's a milkman, he couldn't believe it either. So I'm taking loads of pictures to send home to him. And it'd be really good if I had one of you" — he looked imploringly at Heri — "maybe one of your friends could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?"

"_Signed photos?_ You're giving out _signed photos_, Potter?" Loud and scathing, Malfoy's voice echoed around the courtyard. He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked by his large and thuggish cronies as he always was.

"Everyone line up!" Malfoy roared to the crowd. "Heri Potter's giving out signed photos!"

"You're just jealous!" piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe's neck.

"_Jealous?_" said Malfoy, who didn't need to shout anymore; half the courtyard was listening in. "Of what? I don't want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don't think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself."

Apparently, the summer holiday had built back up Malfoy's bravado. He hadn't done more than glare at her after the dragon thing the year before, but it appeared that returning to his spoiling parents hiked up his courage again.

Heri's smile turned bland at the sight of Malfoy.

"Whoever said it did? Was there something you wanted, Malfoy?"

The boy glared at her.

"What I want is for you to know how pathetic you are."

Heri's smile did not waver even as her friends bristled.

"Ah, is that so? Well, thank you for informing me. Feel free to be on your way."

"Don't think you can dismiss me! I'll stay as long as I please!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Malfoy, did you want a photo too? Maybe if you ask nicely, Colin will give you a copy."

"But if you want it signed, it'll cost you!" Hannah added snidely.

The entourage of Hufflepuffs snickered.

Heri ignored the blond boy as he made to say something in retaliation. Hannah had the situation well in hand and it was easy for Heri to let the other girl take the reigns of the confrontation. Hannah had Malfoy stalking away in a snit quicker than blinking.

"You mind taking the photo, Wayne?" Heri asked of the only other brunette in their group as she beckoned Colin toward her.

As Wayne took the camera from the younger boy, Colin beamed.

Colin ended up getting the signed photo he just as he wanted, though he decidedly did _not _end up giving one to Malfoy. Unfortunately, he took Heri's agreement to a photo as permission to pop up and click photos of them whenever he felt like, effectively becoming Heri's paparazzi.

* * *

**L**una Lovegood blinked her wide, baby-blue eyes in slight disorientation. Between the few seconds it took for a couple of the girls from her dorm to snatch her bag and make a few snide comments, the time-line distorted and shifted. Wherein she was supposed to be friendless and suffer through mild bullying until her fourth year, now she would be part of a group and have her dorm-mates suck up to her. She didn't understand how such a change could occur until she spotted Heri Potter standing stock still at the turn of the corridor, her group of friends pulling to a stop around her.

Heri's pleasant expression didn't waver, but Luna discerned a tightening along her jaw and a thinning of her lips.

"Luna!" said Heri brightly, seeming to not notice the other two Ravenclaw first-years standing there as well. She stepped forward and pulled Luna toward the other Hufflepuffs. "I was just thinking about you! Have you met my other friends yet? Come have breakfast with us!"

Luna blinked languidly.

"I would like that very much. I'll need to get my school bag back of course as I was hoping to read ahead before class."

Heri's eyes turned into merry crescents.

"What a good idea! I think I'll do the same today. So," here she turned to the dumbstruck Ravenclaws still holding Luna's bag. "Were you holding Luna's bag for her? How nice of you! Thank you for going through the trouble!"

Heri plucked the satchel from their limp grasps and returned it to Luna. She then turned her back on them and beamed at the remaining group.

"I believe I've told you about Sally-Anne . . ."

As they walked away, Luna wondered what sort of being Heri Potter was that she could alter the reality of the time-line so suddenly and significantly.

* * *

**H**eri wasn't sure why she had thought she might not have made it onto the Quidditch team. If the fact that a spot was basically reserved for her from the year before wasn't enough, the moment she accidentally spiked a Bludger into a Snitch and made the golden ball _explode _took away any doubt.

It should be known that she hadn't _meant_ to hit the Snitch; she had been aiming for the _Seeker._ Well, no, that didn't sound much better. Heri meant to distract the Seeker from the Snitch by hitting the Bludger close enough that they were forced to veer off lest they be hit; Snitch explosion was _not _part of the plan. She didn't even know that she had hit the Bludger that hard! Well, at least the Seeker had retreated as she wanted, though she wasn't sure if she like the horror-struck look in his eyes as if he had narrowly escaped death.

"I'm so sorry!" Heri had said, her eyes as wide as her almost-victim's.

In any case, she was on the team, both to her own delight and the Captain's. It was the damnedest thing: when that Snitch went up into dust, the Captain, Odric Winslow, lit up like his insides were on fire; he was all but singing Hallelujah.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Winslow had bellowed. "Keep that up, Potter! Let's see the other teams try scoring with _you _hammering Bludgers at them!"

From the looks on Fred and George's face — the only two outside of Hufflepuff that had managed to sneak into the tryouts — they agreed with Winslow's assessment.

Practices were three times a week and were as covert as Hufflepuffs could manage.

* * *

**D**obby had somehow gotten himself in the school undercover, posing as one of the Hogwarts house-elves. Thinking on it, the position was the best one for a house-elf playing bodyguard: he had free run of the school whenever he had time away from his wizards (which was quite often since Dobby was just one of many and not a favoured one) and none of the other elves would miss him during the time he was skulking around because there were already a butt-load of elves at Hogwarts.

"Have you seen anything suspicious?" Heri asked him once. She had been off to the Slytherin common room for a bit and there was plenty of time for her to talk privately with Dobby.

"Nothing yet, Heri Potter, Miss," Dobby replied. "But Dobby won't be taking no chances!"

Heri thought Dobby was being excessively paranoid considering that she knew for a fact that the school wards and fail-safes had been updated (Professor Sprout had told Heri herself). And it wasn't like Heri didn't know how to take care of herself, she had taken care of more monsters over the summer — some of wonky bird things that Hedwig helped her with and a huge snake with multiple heads — and none of them were exactly pushovers.

Wait, it was supposed to be a Dark object, so not exactly something she could beat into submission, was it?

Well, her box-cutter proved itself effective in monster-slaying, maybe she could use it to stab the whatever if it ever came around trying to kill her! Objects could be stabbed, right? So if it came right down to it, Heri would stab the shit out of the killer thingy, fuck waiting for a rescuer.

* * *

**H**alf running down a corridor, a smile split Heri's face as she bounced off to visit Hagrid for their usual tea time. She had only spent a few minutes cuddling with Enoch before she was pulled off for Qudditch practice the last time, and she was determined to have a longer stretch of relaxing with her large friend this time around. She had a bundle of pastries she had gotten from the school elves via the Twins and couldn't wait to share it with Hagrid.

Spotting the opening to the courtyard that led to Hagrid's hut, Heri picked up her pace, her bag bouncing against her leg. She was almost full out sprinting when her attention was jarred.

Heri screeched to a halt. What was that —?

_Hissss_

There it was again! She turned on the spot and scanned the corridor she had come from. Nothing. Completely empty save herself. She could have sworn . . .

_§Bite . . . Ssssoooo hungry . . .§_

Heri blinked when she realised what she was hearing. Had some kind of reptile found its way into the school? It was a rather odd time for a snake or lizard to be out and about considering the weather and location. Had another student brought it along as a pet?

Heri shrugged to herself. Well, it was none of _her _business. If a person couldn't keep up with their familiar, it was their own fault if they lost it. In any case, the school was teeming with critters that a reptile could eat so whatever it was that was hissing would be fine on its own.

Heri put the hissing out of her mind and continued on her way.

* * *

"**M**any people tend to think that the Switching Spell is actually swapping out one item for another," Heri told her friends as she showed them how to perform the spell by 'switching' an apple with a glass phial. They were not the only ones listening, some of the other nearby students were paying attention as well. "The truth is that you aren't actually swapping two things around; it wouldn't even be a Transfiguration spell if that was the case."

She waved her wand and swapped her props again.

"What we're actually doing is simultaneous Transfiguration, transforming the apple into the phial and the phial into the apple at the exact same time. That gives the _effect_ of swapping. As you can imagine, this is a lot more difficult than just transforming the objects one by one.

"Now, the reason it's called the Switching Spell is because of the method used to perform the spell. Instead of picturing the two objects transforming into each other at the same time, you picture them trading places. I find it easiest to imagine the two things sitting apart and then sliding toward each other until they overlap and then end up on the opposite side of where they started."

"Excellent explanation, Miss Potter," praised Professor McGonagall. Heri looked up and smiled at the older woman. She continued, "Very few people realise the particularities of this spell, even when they study more in-depth on the subject."

Heri earned ten points for her explanation, gaining thirty in total for Hufflepuff by the end of the lesson.

* * *

**M**aking her way down into the dungeon, Heri wondered if this was another instance of her usually good habits backfiring on her, like the time she didn't check the mail over when her Hogwarts letter was in the pile. This time, her sense of courtesy — the force that made her abhor impoliteness — had her agreeing to go to the Death-day party of the Gryffindor House ghost. She wasn't sure why a ghost would celebrate the day they died, but she had been invited by the host personally and it would be bad manners not to show up.

At least this way she wouldn't have to make her friends feel awkward by sitting in the dorms while everyone else was at the Halloween Feast; this way she wouldn't have to watch them flail about, not knowing how to make her feel better about the night her parents died in front of her.

The passageway leading to Nearly Headless Nick's party had been lined with candles, though the effect was far from cheerful: These were long, thin, jet-black tapers, all burning bright blue, that cast a dim, ghostly light over her still living face. The temperature dropped with every step she took. As Heri shivered and drew her robes tightly around her, she heard what sounded like a thousand fingernails scraping an enormous blackboard.

Was that supposed to be music?

She turned a corner and saw Nearly Headless Nick standing at a doorway hung with black velvet drapes.

"My dear friend," he said extravagantly "Welcome, welcome . . . so pleased you could come . . ." He swept off his plumed hat and bowed her inside.

It was an incredible sight. The dungeon was full of hundreds of pearly-white, translucent people, mostly drifting around a crowded dance floor, waltzing to the dreadful, quavering sound of thirty musical saws, played by an orchestra on a raised, black-draped platform. A chandelier overhead blazed midnight-blue with a thousand more black candles. Heri's breath rose in a mist before her; it was like stepping into a freezer.

Heri opted to take a walk around the perimeter in hopes of heating up her feet. Taking care not to walk through anyone, she set off around the edge of the dance floor. She passed a group of gloomy nuns, a ragged man wearing chains, and the Fat Friar, the cheerful Hufflepuff ghost, who was talking to a knight with an arrow sticking out of his forehead. Heri wasn't surprised to see that the Bloody Baron, the gaunt, staring Slytherin ghost covered in silver bloodstains, was being given a wide berth by the other spectres.

On the other side of the hall was a long table, also covered in black velvet. She approached it curiously but next moment had stopped in her tracks, gob-smacked The smell was quite disgusting! Large, rotten fish were laid on handsome silver platters; cakes, burned charcoal-black, were heaped on serving trays; there was a great maggoty haggis, a slab of cheese covered in furry green mould and, in pride of place, an enormous grey cake in the shape of a tombstone, with tar-like icing forming words:

_Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington _

_died 31st October, 1492 _

Heri watched, amazed, as a portly ghost approached the table, crouched low, and walked through it, his mouth held wide so that it passed through one of the stinking salmon.

"Can you taste it if you walk through it?" Heri asked him, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Almost," said the ghost sadly, and he drifted away.

Heri resolved then and there that when she ever died, she wouldn't stick around as a ghost if she could help it. She'd rather her soul be wiped from existence all together than pine after putrid slop she wouldn't feed to the pigs of her most hated enemy.

Heri eventually ended up in a conversation with the stocky ghost of a former Hogwarts student named Myrtle and Peeves the Poltergeist of all people. Peeves was being his usual awful self and had gotten poor Myrtle to crying. Wailing really, there was a reason she was known as Moaning Myrtle.

"Come now, Myrtle," said Heri, trying to soothe the miserable spirit. "You know Peeves says things like that just to get a reaction. More than half the things he says aren't true in the least bit and I certainly wasn't talking badly about you; I've only just met you tonight!"

"Don't lie to me," Myrtle gasped, tears now flooding down her face, while Peeves chuckled happily over her shoulder. "D'you think I don't know what people call me behind my back? Fat Myrtle! Ugly Myrtle! Miserable, moaning, moping Myrtle!"

"You've forgotten _pimply_," Peeves tacked on.

Moaning Myrtle burst into anguished sobs.

Heri glared something fierce at Peeves.

"You keep your awful words to yourself, Peeves! Myrtle feels badly enough by herself!"

Without thinking, Heri reached out her hand to pat the other girl on the back, not remembering that ghosts were insubstantial. It seemed that reality had forgotten the fact as well since Heri's hand landed on Myrtle's shoulder just as it would have if she had been touching Wayne's shoulder. She got in two quick pats before all three of them froze and stared at Heri's hand as if it had fallen off.

"You can touch me!" Myrtle yelped, her eyes bugging out of her head. Her exclamation drew the attention of nearby ghosts. Soon it was as if every phantom in the room was beside themselves with shock.

Suffice to say the party then become less about Sir Nicholas' death and more about Heri's new found powers. It turned out that the ability to physically touch a ghost was unheard of.

* * *

**T**he day after Halloween, Heri heard about the horrible thing done to Mrs. Norris, Mr. Filch's wretched cat. She was told by a riveted Megan about the words painted on the walls, the declaration by someone claiming to be the Heir of Slytherin which was also a threat to muggleborns, if what Megan had overheard was to be believed.

'_The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.'_

Heri had a sinking feeling in her stomach that this was part of the danger Dobby was trying to protect her from.

The teachers had sprung into action at the first hint of danger, already wary from the fore-warning they had gotten via Heri. Students were now required to travel in groups at all times outside of the common rooms. Prefects had their tardiness to their classes overlooked as they accompanied the younger years from lesson to lesson. While many of the older students thought it was all overkill ("Nothing but a melodramatic threat and a harassed cat," griped Marcus when Heri asked him about it), the three youngest years were jumping at shadows.

Unsurprisingly, Lockhart was all for the drama. His classes became devoted to the other monstrous creatures he had defeated that had the potential to do the same damage ("Definitely a Mongolian Death Worm! The other professors have been begging me to look into it since I told them!") and how he'd defeat it as soon as it showed itself.

* * *

**T**he Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff was half won before the game even started. Rumours had circulated about Hufflepuff's especially strong team this year. They had a new starting Seeker in the form of Cedric Diggory — an all around friendly bloke that was quite popular in his year— the returning Chaser trio composed of the Captain and two fellows that had been on the team for three years already, a quick-witted sixth-year girl by the name of Alabasandria Goodnight as Keeper, and a fifth-year boy named Mordechai Cohen as a Beater alongside Heri. Coupled with the fantastic tales of Heri's physical strength, they had the Ravenclaws already deciding how they'd be admitting defeat gracefully.

Hufflepuff's past defeats were rarely because of lack of talent but because they just didn't have it in them to possibly do others harm during the game. Cohen was the perfect example of the typical Hufflepuff Beater: accurate, strong, but never aiming to knock anyone off their broom. More often than not, they tried to confuse the opposition but did so half-heartedly, not thrilled at deceiving.

And then entered Heri.

Heri had absolutely no qualms about blasting a bloke off his broom nor was she bashful in her disruption of the Ravenclaws' plays. Because of their opposing dispositions on the Pitch, Winslow had set Cohen to play defensive while Heri went on the offensive. While Cohen kept the Chasers and Diggory safe as he could manage from one Bludger, Heri took control of the other. Flying close enough to it that it chased after her, Heri shot the Bludger through Ravenclaw's manoeuvres and at their Keeper in hopes of sending them out of the game. At a muffled swear-word shot in her direction by their Seeker, Heri even sent it rocketing at Chang, resulting in a splintered indention in the stands just inches from the Asian girl's head.

In the end, Diggory caught the Snitch while Heri knocked Chang clean off her Comet 260 with a Bludger to the gut. It almost ended in fatal injury when one of the Ravenclaw Beaters let loose a Bludger before realising Diggory had caught the Snitch, but Heri managed to intercept the loose ball by whacking another Bludger at it, causing the two to collide only a few feet from Diggory and careen off harmlessly again.

The victory party afterwards was one to be remembered.

* * *

**T**he day after the Quidditch match, news was bursting forth from Gryffindor that Colin Creevey was in the Hospital Wing, petrified. Unsurprisingly, the general consensus was he had encountered the monster that had previously been locked away in the Chamber of Secrets. Any post-game cheer that remained from the night before was immediately evaporated.

* * *

**T**he entire school had been twitchy since the bloody writing on the wall. Malfoy's words indicating how muggleborns were the target along with Creevey being laid up in the Hospital Wing only stirred up greater unrest. While the teachers maintained that things were under control, the fear of the unknown was still there.

As if answering their prayers, notices were posted announcing the creation of a Duelling Club. Upon thinking about it, Heri concluded that it was unlikely that whatever was prowling the school would be duelling anyone. Monsters weren't really the sort for structured wand-play. Still, the other students were heartened so at least morale was picked up.

In the Great Hall that evening, the dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

"I wonder who'll be teaching us?" said Ernie as they edged into the chattering crowd. "Someone told me Flitwick was a duelling champion when he was young — maybe it'll be him."

"As long as it's not —" Wayne began, but he ended on a groan. Looking in the direction the boy was glaring, Heri could see why: Gilderoy Lockhart was walking onto the stage, resplendent in robes of deep plum and accompanied by none other than Snape, wearing his usual black.

Lockhart waved an arm for silence and called, "Gather round, gather round! Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me? Excellent!

"Now, Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little dueling club, to train you all in case you ever need to defend yourselves as I myself have done on countless occasions — for full details, see my published works."

Really? Was now the time to promote merchandise?

"Let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape," said Lockhart, flashing a wide smile. "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself," (Oh, did the moron have a death wish?) "and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry — you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

"Wouldn't it be great if they finished each other off?" Heri heard Zacharias mutter. Hannah and Megan gave him a filthy look while Heri swallowed the laugh that threatened to escape her.

Snape's upper lip was curling. Heri wondered why Lockhart was still smiling; if Snape had been looking at _h__er_ like that she'd be getting ready to defend her life. The two professors turned to face each other and bowed; at least, Lockhart did, with much twirling of his hands, whereas Snape jerked his head irritably. Then they raised their wands like swords in front of them.

"As you see, we are holding our wands in the accepted combative position," Lockhart told the silent crowd. "On the count of three, we will cast our first spells. Neither of us will be aiming to kill, of course."

Heri watched Snape bare his teeth. _He _looked fit to kill.

"One — two — three —"

Both of them swung their wands above their heads and pointed them at their opponent.

"_Expelliarmus!_" cried Snape

There was a dazzling flash of scarlet light and Lockhart was blasted off his feet. He flew backward off the stage, smashed into the wall, and slid down it to sprawl on the floor.

Malfoy and some of the other Slytherins cheered. Hell, Heri was tempted to cheer as well but she didn't want to do anything Malfoy's ilk approved of.

Lockhart got unsteadily to his feet. His hat had fallen off and his wavy hair was standing on end.

"Well, there you have it!" he said, tottering back onto the platform. "That was a Disarming Charm — as you see, I've lost my wand — ah, thank you, Miss Brown — yes, an excellent idea to show them that, Professor Snape, but if you don't mind my saying so, it was very obvious what you were about to do. If I had wanted to stop you it would have been only too easy — however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see . . ."

Snape expression could have melted rock. Possibly Lockhart had noticed, because he said, "Enough! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me —"

They moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart paired students together with little care, creating teams like Theodore Nott with Neville, Lavender Brown with Zacharias, and Sally-Anne with Millicent Bulstrode. It was like he couldn't see what kind of disasters he was creating.

And it _was_ a disaster. Spells of all colours were shot out with little attention to the spell they were supposed to be practising.

"_I said disarm only!_" Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd. He might as well had been shouting at the clouds to stop raining for all the good his words did.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Lockhart, but it was no use.

Fed up at the situation, Snape took charge.

"_Finite Incantatem!_" he shouted, jabbing his wand into the air. All at once, the spells of the students deteriorated, returning the room and its inhabitants back to normal.

"Dear, dear," said Lockhart, skittering through the crowd, looking at the aftermath of the duels. "Up you go there, Macmillan . . ." Heri and Hannah sprang into action and pulled Ernie away. "Careful there, Miss Fawcett . . . Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot —

"I think I'd better teach you how to block unfriendly spells as well," said Lockhart, standing flustered in the midst of the hall. He glanced at Snape, whose black eyes glinted, and looked quickly away. He forced a cheery smile back onto his face. "Let's have some volunteers — How about it, Miss Heri Potter? And maybe — ?"

A hand shot into the air before Heri had the time to decline.

"I volunteer, Professor!"

There, stepping out from where she had been fawning over Malfoy was Pansy Parkinson, a simpering look on her face. Malfoy whispered something in her ear and she smirked widely.

"Excellent, excellent!" said Lockhart, "Up on the stage with the two of you."

Unwilling to make a scene by protesting now, Heri grudgingly climbed up on the elevated platform, her face smooth and relaxed.

"Now, Heri," said Lockhart as Snape attended to Parkinson. "When Pansy points her wand at you, you do this."

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it.

Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, "Whoops — my wand is a little overexcited you see —"

Parkinson stood haughtily as she waited, her expression as smug as ever.

Heri eyed the other girl and said to Lockhart, "Professor, do you mind showing me that block again?"

"Scared, Potter?" Parkinson called out, tittering nastily.

Heri's lifted her brows in a questioning manner. She allowed some cattiness to escape her.

"Of _you?_ Perhaps if you were aiming at a person standing next to me."

Muffled snickers broke out as Parkinson flushed and then glared at Heri.

"On the count of three!" Lockhart called out from where he stood at the edge of the stage. The girls held their wands at the ready. "One . . . Two~oooo . . . Three!"

Heri tossed up a simple shield as Parkinson flung a trip jinx at her. Without waiting the amount of time expected of her during what was supposed to be a demonstration, Parkinson fired a stinging hex.

Having enough already of being on the defensive, Heri dodged lightly to the side and returned fire by turning one of Parkinson's shoes into a squid.

Parkinson squealed at the disgusting feel and fell to the ground. Snarling, she shrieked, "_Serpensortia!_"

Heri watched, startled, as a long black snake shot out of Parkinson's wand. It fell heavily onto the floor between them and coiled defensively, hissing angrily. There were screams as the crowd backed swiftly away, clearing the space at the edge of the stage.

It looked to be a rat snake, a constrictor type that had only a little venom that actually didn't do much harm to a human. They were also docile by nature unless they were harassed. Unfortunately, the shouting and running about did absolutely nothing for its temperament.

_§What is this?§ _The snake lashed its tail in agitation as it flicked its tongue out and took in all the confusing scents in the Hall. _§Threat?§ _

"Parkinson, are you mad?" said Heri, her eyes not leaving the enraged serpent. "You just brought an angry snake into a crowd of people!"

"Don't move, Potter," said Snape, his wand at the ready. "I'll get rid of it —"

"Allow me!" shouted Lockhart. He brandished his wand at the snake and there was a loud bang; the snake, instead of vanishing, flew ten feet into the air and fell back to the floor with a loud smack.

Infuriated, hissing savagely, it reared caught sight of the trembling Justin with his wand pointed at it.

_§__This i__s__ threat?__§ _

Poised to strike, the snake bared its fangs.

_§__Stop!__§ _Heri commanded, her hand stretched out as if to physically pull the animal away from the terrified boy.

There was gasping silence as the incensed snake turned from Justin to regard Heri instead.

_§__Threat speaks . . . commands . . .__§_

Heri slid slowly down from her standing position until she was seated on her on the stage with her legs tucked under her. Just as slowly, she put her hand to the floor.

As kindly and non-threateningly as she could manage, she said, _§__There is no threat. It was not our intention to bring you here. Come here please and I'll find a way to return you.__§_

The snake considered Heri's words for a moment before it decided to disregard them, rearing back up to attack Justin again.

Heri pounded the stage with her fist and hissed like an angry cat. The sound made audience and snake alike jump and flinch. She gave the disobedient thing a cold look.

_§__Do you think me to be common prey? Come here at once or I'll __**kill**__ you.__§_

Cowed, the serpent slithered over to the offered arm and coiled itself into Heri's heat. Heri brought the arm up and cradled it to her body, running her other hand soothingly over its scales. The snake hissed in pleasure and relaxed.

Once the reptile was settled docilely in her arms, Heri's shoulders slumped and she let out a shuddering breath. Her unblinkingly gaze fell to the ground just in front of her as she tried to calm her heartbeat.

Heri looked up at the continuing silence. She caught Snape's shocked eyes and asked, "Can you send it back, Professor? It was terribly confused and angry at being summoned."

* * *

**I**t turned out that many people had problems with a person that could talk to reptiles. Why, Heri didn't know, but the ability apparently made her the prime suspect for the mess about the Heir of Slytherin and the Chamber of Secrets. It was now popularly believed among the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws that she had it out for Colin Creevey from the beginning and that he was petrified because he got on her nerves.

"She's a _Parselmouth,_" said a chubby Ravenclaw that had often made an idiot of himself trying to get her attention before. "Everyone knows that's the mark of a Dark wizard. Have you ever heard of a decent one who could talk to snakes? They called Slytherin himself Serpent-tongue."

Not to his face, likely, Heri thought as Hannah overheard the comment and came down like the wrath of the gods on the dissenters.

"No one knows how she survived that attack by You-Know-Who. I mean, she was only a baby when it happened. She should have been blasted into smithereens. Only a really powerful Dark wizard could have survived a curse like that," a Gryffindor a year older than her had said. "That's probably why You-Know-Who wanted to kill her in the first place. Didn't want another Dark Lord competing with him. I wonder what other powers Potter's been hiding?"

Beyond the touch of irritation (really, did they think they were entitled to know everything about her?), Heri took the sudden backlash nonchalantly. She was used to people thinking the worst of her from years of being a 'delinquent.' Her friends on the other hand, refused to take it sitting down. In fact, most of Hufflepuff sided with Heri on this; they circled the proverbial wagons tighter that a miser's fist and snapped at anyone that tried to take badly about Heri.

It was amusing to watch usually non-confrontational Hufflepuffs snap and curse at the nay-sayers. A colourful auxiliary of spells were hidden behind those shy facades; it came to a point that many of those that pointed fingers at Heri came to flinch at the sight of yellow.

"It's the stupidest thing!" Ernie had said, outraged on Heri's behalf. "Not last week they were all but kissing your feet! And now you're the source of all evil? Two-faced arse-kissers!"

Her friends in the other Houses weren't quiet in their defense of her either. Luna and Neville weren't the punch-in-the-face sort but they didn't waver when they got poked at for their commitment. The Weasleys were split in their reactions. While none of them believed Heri to be the Heir of Slytherin person, how they dealt with their stance varied.

Fred and George found it all very funny. Whenever they crossed paths on the way to classes, the two went out of their way to march ahead of Heri down the corridors, shouting, "Make way for the Heir of Slytherin! Seriously evil witch coming through!"

Heri, of course, wasn't about to walk with heralds shouting her entrance without doing it in style. Like princess deigning to walk among her subjects, Heri strolled through the halls as if her feet didn't even touch the ground. Her friends found it amusing as well and played at being her attendants.

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behaviour.

"It is not a laughing matter," he said coldly when he came across them during such a play.

"Oi, get out of the way, Percy," said Fred. "Heri's in a hurry."

"Yeah, she's off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with her fanged servant," said George, chortling.

Ginny didn't find it amusing either. She hadn't said more than two words to Heri since the year began but she couldn't stand any insinuation that Heri was at fault.

"Oh, don't," she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who Heri was planning to attack next, or when George pretended to ward Heri off with a large clove of garlic when they met.

Harry didn't mind; the school could use a few jokes. She'd seen cemeteries that were more cheerful.

As she was unbothered by the accusations, Heri spent time in the Library looking up Parselmouths. She hadn't known that the ability was rare. She had come across references to it before in the books she read but none of them had mentioned it was some weird taboo. Well, at least in England it was; it seemed to be a coveted skill in the East. Either way, she researched why exactly it was such a big deal.

It turned out that Britain had a bad string of luck with Parselmouths in the past; not only was the Hogwarts founder with a bad reputation a Parselmouth, Voldemort and some evil bloke named Herpo the Foul were as well. They proved themselves to be a rotten lot but their existence didn't erase people like Paracelsus and Ascelpius. That would be like saying all blondes were horrible just because the Malfoys existed.

Heri did wonder where her ability came from though. Any inheritable magical traits had to come from her father's line (since her mother was the first witch in her family), but as far as she knew Potters didn't have anything that could be called a bloodline trait beyond the infamous Potter hair. She'd have to get a look at the family grimoire that she had left in her bank vault.

More study into the subject of serpents and people with power over them led Heri back into mythology and magical creatures.

The nagas of South-East Asia were a semi-aquatic species of magical beings that had the capability to mate with humans. The offspring and descendants of such unions almost always had the ability to talk to snakes. Other creatures, like lamiae, gorgons, and yuan-ti, shared this trait. Heri wondered if the Slytherin family came from such a union.

There was a long list of gods that were associated with snakes and other reptiles as well. There was Apep, Set, Ningizzida, Apsu, Agni, Sobek, Cien-Tang, Typhon, Indra, Marduk, Moma, and Ophion, among others. All of them had fascinating stories, but it was Ophion that caught the brunt of her attention. It turned out that there was another variation of the Greek creation story wherein Ophion and his wife Eurynome ruled Olympus before they were overthrown by Kronos and Rhea.

Now that she was thinking about it, Heri wondered where the primordial gods and the titans lived now that they no longer had Olympus. Were they on another plane of existence? Or maybe they still were on Olympus but they just weren't running the metaphorical show anymore. Maybe it was like grandkids moving in with their aging grandparents and taking over the running of the house while the older folk eased back from responsibility. Maybe they were in the big retirement home in the sky, playing bingo and shuffle-board while reminiscing about the good ol' days when nectar and ambrosia was only two Drachmas for a whole barrel instead of 25 for a pint.

Indelicate whispering distracted her from her flight of fancy. Heri looked up from the book she was reading and gave the table of gawking students next to her a bland look. They looked away hurriedly as she gathered up her books to find a quieter spot.

* * *

**T**he accusations got more fervent when Justin ended up petrified as well. Heri didn't know how they explained her attacking another person of her House, but it was apparently another mark against her.

* * *

**H**eri snuggled into one of Hagrid's enormous chairs contentedly, Enoch cuddling up to her on one side, Ignis, her dragon figurine on her other side. It was a few days until Christmas and she was spending the bulk of the snowy holiday evenings in the cosy cottage. A large fire in front of her, a bowl-sized mug of cocoa warming her hands, Hagrid telling amusing stories beside her; Heri was inordinately pleased.

As Hagrid got up to refill his mug of mead, Heri remembered that today was Winter Solstice. Taking up one of Hagrid's special holiday fruitcakes, she tossed the pastry into the fire and sent well-wishes to the gods of Olympus, praying they were having a restful a Solstice as she was having.

It might have been her imagination, but Heri felt a wave of gratitude wrap around her.

* * *

**E**ven though students weren't supposed to go around by themselves any more, Heri still found time to sneak away. Ever since Halloween, she had been visiting Myrtle in the second floor girl's toilet to experiment with her odd power with ghosts. So far, they had discovered that not only could she touch them, but while she was in contact with them they were temporarily physical. Myrtle had a wail of a time revelling in being able to feel things again, crying in joy the first time she had picked up one of Heri's books.

This time though, a great flood of water stretching over half the corridor that looked as though it was still seeping from under the door of Myrtle's lavatory greeted her. Holding the hem of her robes over her ankles, Heri stepped through the great wash of water to the door bearing its out of order sign and entered.

Myrtle was crying, if possible, louder and harder than ever before. She seemed to be hiding down her usual stall. It was dark in the loo because the candles had been extinguished in the great rush of water that had left both walls and floor soaking wet.

"Myrtle, what's happened?" Heri called out.

"Who's that?" sniffled Myrtle miserably. "Come to throw something else at me?"

Heri waded across to her stall and said, "It's Heri. Who's thrown something at you?"

Technically speaking, even if something had been thrown at Myrtle, it wasn't going to do her any harm, but it was still rude.

"Don't ask _me_," Myrtle shouted, emerging with a wave of yet more water, which splashed onto the already sopping floor. "Here I am, minding my own business, and someone thinks it's funny to throw a book at me!"

"Who would ever want to though?"

"_I_ don't know. I was just sitting in the U-bend, thinking about death, and it fell right through the top of my head," said Myrtle. "It's over there, it got washed out . . ."

Heri looked under the sink where Myrtle was pointing. A small, thin book lay there. It had a shabby black cover and was as wet as everything else in the loo. She picked it up and saw that it was some sort of diary. Absently flipping through the pages for possible clue, she was disappointed in finding that it was completely blank.

"Why would anyone want to flush it in the first place?" Heri wondered aloud. Shaking her head, she she tucked the diary in her bag (she wasn't about to waste a perfectly serviceable notebook!) and changed the subject. "Well, I doubt they'll be coming back to the metaphorical scene of the crime. Would you like to read that new action-adventure book I promised you? I got it in the mail just after class."

* * *

**T**he rumours against Heri died a sudden death when a Prefect and Sally-Anne ended up in the hospital wing. Many of the fickle crowd pelted them with apologies but Heri's crowd circled in tighter than ever, glowering at anyone that tried asking for forgiveness. For whole week, none of them talked to anyone not part of their circle, barely even saying anything to each other either.

Those of the student body that spoke against her finally realised what sort of curse they had narrowly avoided when Heri publicly grabbed Malfoy by the hair and smashed his face into a wall. The stupid boy had said that Sally-Anne has lost him money since he had bet that she would be the mudblood that died. They recognised the blank look on Heri's face as she watched Malfoy's goon cart him away to be the same one she had given her accusers when they gossiped about her.

* * *

**H**eri sprinted through the dense vegetation of the Forbidden Forest as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. If one were to ask her, she might have preferred hounds instead of what actually was pursuing her. Spiders. And not the common, tiny spiders. Spiders the size of carthorses, eight-eyed, eight-legged, black, hairy, gigantic.

Oh, why had she thought it was a good idea to listen to Hagrid and let a trail of spiders lead her to a nest of acromantulas? She already knew that Hagrid was innocent! She didn't need a man-eating monster with a brood of its children hungry for her flesh to confirm that.

In her haste, and with the pounding of her blood in her ears, she didn't hear the sound of hoof-beats until the creatures producing the sound were upon her.

With a wild cry, a herd of centaurs burst through the foliage of the clearing Heri had entered and began to attack the giant spiders. A deluge of arrows rained down on the acromantulas, sending the shrieking and scrambling back. The centaurs advanced onto their foe, leaving carcasses underfoot as they pressed forward.

Heri clutched the front of her shirt as if she could somehow expand her chest so more air could enter her. She sat heavily on the ground and set about calming her heartbeat down.

"Are you alright?" said a voice to her right.

Heri started almost violently. She looked up to see one of the centaurs. He looked relatively young, resembling a man in his early twenties. He had white-blond hair and a stark white coat. He also had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale sapphires.

"Yes," said Heri, still panting lightly. "Thank you for coming when you did."

"It was only chance that we were hunting those foul beasts while you were fleeing. No thanks are needed for what was meant to be."

Heri blinked up at him uncertainly.

"Whether my thanks are needed or not isn't really important. I was in danger of being killed and eaten; your actions saved me. Therefore, gratitude is is order."

The centaur stared at her intently. His eyes flickered to her forehead.

"You are an odd one, Heri Potter."

Another centaur came trotting back, his flanks shiny with sweat. He was black-haired and -bodied with a wilder look about him than the first one.

"Firenze," the new centaur addressed the one still staring at Heri. "What of this human child?"

"I have yet questioned her," the white one replied. "Why are you roaming the forest, child?"

Heri wobbled to her feet to address the properly.

"Hagrid has been taken away to prison for a crime he didn't commit. Before he was taken away, he told me that if I wanted to know what was going on, I should follow the trail of spiders into the forest. I found the person he meant for me to find, but Aragog decided that he rather I didn't leave and sent his children to eat me."

The black-haired one snorted and stamped.

"You thought it a good idea to heed the words of a man that was expelled from his place of learning for harbouring a dangerous creature? You must be as thoughtless as he is."

"Bane!" Firenze admonished, but Heri didn't accept such a small chiding as enough for such a heartless statement.

Heri straightened her back and brought all the intensity of her glower to bear on the rude creature. Unbeknownst to her, a visible aura surrounded her, shrouding her and taking an almost identifiable shape.

"It's not your place to speak in such a manner against a man who had his sense of compassion for all types of living things used against him," she said, her words clipped. "I put my trust in Hagrid's words? I sure do! Hagrid is kind in a way not found in many other places and I don't doubt that if he'd been with me, Aragog would have let us leave unharmed without a thought. It was a miscalculation of Hagrid's part, one that was brought on because of how rushed he was when he told me what to do, and I'll not stand here and let you degrade him!"

Neither centaur had anything to say after such a statement, they merely watched her, almost in awe.

Firenze looked to Bane.

"You see as I have seen?"

Bane looked astonished and a touch disbelieving. "

I do see, though I scarcely believe these eyes of mine."

"You know what must be done then?"

"Aye. I know it well. It has been written since the beginning."

Heri huffed.

"What are you two talking about now?"

Their gazes returned to her.

"You are both expected and a surprise to us, little hero," said Bane, his tone even. "As the ones who have discovered you, it is now our duty to teach you the ways you must be educated in lest you perish before your time."

Oh, great. More of _this. _

"What is with supernatural beings calling me a hero?" Heri griped. "First that cyclops, then that giant snake thing, and now you two. Just what exactly is so heroic about me anyway? I haven't done _half_ the things people say I have!"

Firenze leaned in closer.

"You have already done battle against those that know you as a hero?"

Heri eyeballed him.

"Well, _yes. _Though I don't know why everyone keeps calling me that."

"We have less time than anticipated," Firenze declared, not answering Heri's question. He bent his forelegs and motioned for Heri to climb up. "Do not tarry, the sooner we begin, the better."

"Will you be telling me what's going on?"

"All questions will be answered, Heri Potter. There is much to be told."

* * *

**W**ith a sixty-feet basilisk in front of her and the professors (who were _supposed_ to be the ones dealing with the beast) blocked from the hall by the pile of rubble, Heri couldn't help but wonder if it was her lot in life to be some sort of story-book protagonist. With a bird and a talking hat as the only back-up available, she certainly dealt with enough shit for the position.

Fawkes was soaring around the basilisk's head, and the basilisk was snapping furiously at him with fangs long and thin as sabres — Fawkes dove. His long golden beak sank out of sight and a sudden shower of dark blood spattered the floor. The snake's tail thrashed, narrowly missing Heri, and before Heri could shut her eyes, it turned —

Heri looked straight into its face and saw that its eyes, both its great, bulbous yellow eyes, had been punctured by the phoenix; blood was streaming to the floor, and the snake was spitting in agony.

_§__NO!__§_ Heri heard the wraith of the juvenile Voldemort — Tom Marvolo Riddle — scream. _§__LEAVE THE BIRD! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE __GIRL__ IS BEHIND YOU! YOU CAN STILL SMELL H__ER__! KILL H__ER__!__§_

The blinded serpent swayed, confused, still deadly. Fawkes was circling its head, piping his eerie song, jabbing here and there at its scaly nose as the blood poured from its ruined eyes.

The snake's tail whipped across the floor again and Heri leaped away. Making her jump, something soft hit her face. The basilisk had swept the Sorting Hat into Heri's arms.

The hat contracted, as though an invisible hand was squeezing it very tightly. A gleaming silver sword had appeared inside the hat, its handle glittering with rubies the size of eggs.

Well, that was lucky.

_§KILL THE GIRL! LEAVE THE BIRD! THE GIRL IS BEHIND YOU!§_

Heri was on her feet, ready. The basilisk's head was falling, its body coiling around, hitting pillars as it twisted to face her. She could see the vast, bloody eye sockets, see the mouth stretching wide, wide enough to swallow her whole, lined with fangs long as her sword, thin, glittering, venomous —

It lunged blindly — Heri dodged and it hit the Chamber wall. It lunged again, and its forked tongue lashed Heri's side. She raised the sword in both her hands —

The basilisk lunged again, and this time its aim was true — Heri threw her whole weight behind the sword and drove it to the hilt into the roof of the serpent's mouth —

But as warm blood drenched Heri's arms, she felt a searing pain just above her elbow. One long, poisonous fang was sinking deeper and deeper into her arm. It was of the same proportions of a buffalo's horn. She watch detachedly as the tip punctured through to the other side of her arm. It splintered off from the creature's jaw as the basilisk keeled over sideways and fell, twitching, to the floor.

Heri slid down the wall. She gripped the fang that was spreading poison through her body and wrenched it out of her arm. But she knew it was too late. White-hot pain was spreading slowly and steadily from the wound. Even as she dropped the fang and watched her own blood soak her robes, her vision went foggy. The Chamber was dissolving in a whirl of dull colour.

A patch of scarlet swam past, and Heri heard a soft clatter of claws beside her.

Fa-awkes," said Heri thickly to the Headmaster's bird. "You were _fantastic_. Sorry I . . . I couldn't . . . Th-thanks for . . . everything . . ."

She felt the bird lay its beautiful head on the spot where the serpent's fang had pierced her. She could hear echoing footsteps. A dark shadow moved in front of her.

"You're dead, Potter," said Riddle's voice above her. "Dead. Even Dumbledore's bird knows it. Do you see what he's doing? He's crying."

Heri blinked. Fawkes' head slid in and out of focus. Thick, pearly tears were trickling down the glossy feathers.

Heri felt drowsy. Everything around her seemed to be spinning.

"So ends the famous Heri Potter," said Riddle's distant voice. "Alone in the Chamber of Secrets, forsaken by her friends, defeated at last by the Dark Lord she so unwisely challenged. You'll be back with your dear mudblood mother soon, Potter . . . She bought you twelve years of borrowed time . . . but Lord Voldemort got you in the end, as you knew he must . . ."

If this was dying, thought Heri, it wasn't so bad. Even the pain was leaving her . . .

But was this dying? Instead of going black, the Chamber seemed to be coming back into focus. Heri gave her head a little shake and there was Fawkes, still resting his head on her arm. A pearly patch of tears was shining all around the wound — except that there was no wound —

"Get away, bird," said Riddle's voice suddenly. "Get away from her — I said, get away —"

Heri raised her head. Riddle was pointing Heri's wand at Fawkes. There was a bang like a gun, and Fawkes took flight again in a whirl of gold and scarlet.

"Phoenix tears . . ." said Riddle quietly, staring at Heri's arm. "Of course . . . healing powers . . . I had forgotten . . ."

Wondering at her luck, Heri seized the basilisk fang on the floor next to her and plunged it straight into the heart of the book before Riddle could stop her. There was a long, dreadful, piercing scream. Ink spurted out of the diary in torrents, streaming over her hands, flooding the floor. Riddle was writhing and twisting, screaming and flailing and then —

He was gone. Heri's wand fell to the floor with a clatter and there was silence. Silence except for the steady _drip drip_ of ink still oozing from the diary. The basilisk venom had burned a sizzling hole right through it.

Heri wobbled to her feet, the basilisk's fang still gripped in her fist. Ginny was passed out at the mouth of where the basilisk had come out. Judging by the rise and fall of her chest, she was still alive. Heri took in the sight of the basilisk, all sixty feet of its terrifying, blood-thirsty self. Standing next it it's incredible bulk, she felt smaller than she ever had before.

Moving on instinct, Heri staggered to the head of the beast. Even in death, the creature looked on the verge of attacking. Taking aim, the fang in her hand pierced the carcass under its jaw and dug out a venom-sack the size of watermelon.

Fingers tacky with blood both her own and of the monster's, Heri pressed the fang flat against the venom-sack and said, "I sacrifice these spoils of war to my divine parent, whoever they may be."

* * *

**AN: **Does that count as a cliff-hanger? If it does, yay! Tell me how I did, please, as I've not tried to do one before.

I'm trying to cut down the length of my chapters with questionable results. At the rate these are going were going, I'll get to the crossover part some time next year! The previous chapter alone was 32 pages long, over _five times_ the length of my average chapter. That's just ridiculous! Smaller sections; that's the key. I just have to get the important parts in without throwing in all those unnecessary details. This chapter is longer than 32 pages, but believe me when I say that it would have been a lot longer if I didn't trim the fat.

**P.S. **The explanation for Switching Spells comes from The Engulfing Silence's Harry Potter and the Gift of Memories. A thoroughly well-detailed story with a unique Harry. I personally don't care much for Political!Harry but even I recognize a well-formed one.

The idea for Heri as a Beater and the bit where she knocks a Bludger off target by hitting it with another Bludger was inspired by murkybluematter's The Serpentine Subterfuge. If you like Fem!Harry (Hell, even if you don't like it), novel-length stories, well-detailed plot-lines, fascinating characters, funny dialogue, realistic characterizations, you'll love The Pureblood Pretense series. Updates are slow but hella worth the wait.


	4. The Metamorphosis pt 1

**AN: **Immediately after I posted the last chapter, I got reviews saying how they were sad that Heri wasn't going to be paired with Marcus. The pairing is still up in the air at the moment so I'm not sure how ya'll came to the conclusion that Marcus was off the list. I know I only gave him a small mention in the last chapter but that doesn't mean he's no longer a part of the story, I just didn't want to add extra potential pairing fluff because the chapter was already far longer than I wanted.

As of right now, _anyone _is a candidate to be with Heri; the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest, Clarisse, Tyson, the Ophiotaurus, the referee from the Quidditch World Cup, and even Colin Creevey and Malfoy. Hell, I could work Filch in there if I really wanted to (yes, and make it make sense as well). Don't give up your dreams for Heri's pairing just yet, I might just give her a reverse harem with Marcus as her first husband. (LOL: Colin Creevey talking to Marcus and calling him "Lord First Husband." I read too much Asian historical fiction.) Romance just isn't the focus right now.

**Also: **Shout-outs to **Faust VII** for their story, _Caf__é_, where The Nightengale's Cage in Vertic Alley and part of the Gringotts scene came from, and to **Silently Watches** for their story, _Princess of the Blacks_, where the Shuffling Whipplestumpers came from.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Metamorphosis pt. 1**

* * *

**H**eri didn't know why she even bothered going back to the Dursley's. She supposed it was natural for not-yet-grown life-forms to instinctively want to return to where they were raised and cared for . . . but Heri wasn't sure why those instincts told her to go to Privet Drive of all places. In any case, as soon as she got back, she ran up to her room and locked herself in before a word could be said to her. She had had her fill of utter bullshit at school; she didn't need any of the Dursley variety.

Thankfully, the Dursleys took the hint and ignored her as they had the summer before. The fact that the atmosphere around her was just as bad if not worse than what it had been the summer before likely contributed to their decision to let sleeping dogs lie.

Heri spent an extended period of time wondering about her parentage. The centaurs had been adamant that she couldn't be anything less than a child of a god, that there was zero possibility that it had been either one of her parents or both that had been the demigods. This, of course, led her to wondering if one of her parents had been a god in disguise, or if it had been that one of them had cheated on the other.

A bolt of repulsion shot up Heri's spine at the thought that she could have come from a bout of infidelity. She couldn't claim to understand romantic relationships, but her sense of righteousness howled at the thought of cheating. It was so dishonest. It was one thing if someone didn't want to be with another person anymore, she could accept that sometimes people just grew apart, but it was something completely different to pretend one was still committed while sneaking around. Leave if they want; don't flat-out _lie_ and go back on the vows they made when they were getting married.

Yanking at her hair, Heri beat down the urge to scream about the lack of integrity of it all, of _going back on one's word_. She wanted to thrash whatever she could get her hands on and shriek "injustice!" at the top of her lungs. She hadn't been so worked up since that time Dudley accused her of being a liar.

Reigning herself in with a twitchy shudder, Heri huffed and turned her thoughts away from the _how _and back to the _who. _It might have been naïve — and made her previous fit redundant — but she firmly believed that it must have been that one of her parents had been a god in disguise. From the tiny bit she could remember of them and her own gut-feeling, she couldn't believe that Lily and James Potter could have cheated on each other. It was too far-fetched and out of character of them to do so.

Of course, if one of her parents really had been a disguised god, that meant that they were still alive but they left her to live as an orphan with the Dursley. Really, there was no way of winning in such a situation.

The entirety of the summer had been shaping up to be a repeat of before, all self-contained identity crises and voluntary isolation, when disaster reared its nasty head. Heri had worked up a good sulk that was taking up most of her time when it was announced over dinner that Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, was coming for a visit.

"Couldn't be more excited to see you again, Dudley!" said Uncle Vernon, clapping his corpulent son on the shoulder. "She'll likely stay at least a week."

Heri hoped the bald-faced revulsion on her face communicated her feelings on the matter in a way that was unmistakable. Taking the horrible news as a hint to snap out of her funk, Heri took it upon herself to get the hell away from Privet Drive.

Heri had thrust her Hogsmeade permission slip under Aunt Petunia's nose as soon as the older woman was alone.

"Sign it and I'll be gone until next summer," she promised her aunt.

Not wanting such an opportunity to escape her, Aunt Petunia had yanked the form from Heri's hand and scrawled her signature out without even reading it. Not wanting to linger lest questions were asked, Heri nodded without a word and scurried back up to her room.

After a quick message via Hedwig to Wayne — the only one of her friends that was as familiar with the muggle world as they were with the wizarding — Heri learned how to call up a magical transportation service and quickly set to packing. She took the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley right after breakfast the next day.

Diagon was as colourful as ever. Just the sight of it as she came out through the Leaky Cauldron heartened her. Heri took her time to appreciate the rejuvenating power of the cheery shopping district as she made her way to where she to hoped to stay. The Leaky Cauldron had a special place in her heart, but she had been raised too highly-strung to stay in a place where all sorts — including the disreputable and dirty — came and went as they pleased. Call her a snob, but she would pick a more discerning place if it was available.

Heri ended up staying at an inn down in Vertic Alley called the Nightengale's Cage. It was a corner building with walls a shade of watery blue and large tinted windows. The inside was much the same, but with painted birds flying across the walls. She got herself settled in a room that was much like what one would get at a respectable muggle hotel, but without the electronics. She paid for three nights in advance with the money she had left over from her trip for school supplies last year and decided to pop down to the bank the next day to top off her money pouch.

She should have known that a quick stop to the bank would be impossible for her.

* * *

**H**eri got the bank a bit before lunchtime, while the crowd was thin. It was a good month before the school-rush started so the crowd was even thinner than she had expected. She spotted an unoccupied teller and snagged the spot before a new line could form.

When Heri had asked about going down to her vault, the goblin at the counter peered over the counter at her with a dubious once-over.

"Your name?"

Heri checked to make sure no one was in hearing distance before answering quietly, "Heri Potter."

It was a bit of a hullabaloo after that. The goblin teller had asked for verification, looked over Heri's key when she presented it, and then asked if she would also be retrieving her heir rings. Heri, of course, had no idea what heir rings were, and promptly told her teller so. What followed was quite a bit of hollering in what she assumed was Gobbledegook, some confusion on her part when she was bustled out of the front area, and general discontent on the part of the goblins involved. She was shoved off into an office with an older looking goblin before she could understand what was going on.

Grimbak, who turned out to be her account manager, was extremely unhappy about her ignorance. He gave her the nitty-gritty — how the Potters were among the magical families that were landed and titled before the Statute of Secrecy went into place ("Wizarding Britain does not currently have a royal family but those of title and land before the enforcement of the International Statute of Secrecy retained their status since it was through their collective power that the British Ministry of Magic was first formed."), how her father had been the 12th Earl of Hautmont (along with a handful of lesser titles), and how she was now of-age to formally assume the role of heir apparent by wearing the Potter Family heir ring. Heri had known that the Potters had been pretty influential and well-off, but she hadn't known how it came to be; all this new information was enough to make her dizzy. If that wasn't enough, she was also heir presumptive to another family; the Blacks, traditionally Marquess' of Souscolline.

"All I wanted was to withdraw some money," Heri muttered to herself, trying to come to terms with the situation.

"You would do everyone involved a favour by accepting your duties," said Grimbak severely, not allowing Heri to wallow. "Since the time that the mantle of Head of Potter House fell to you, those accounts have been essentially frozen, neither making gold nor paying their dues. That's over a decade of inactivity, Ms. Potter. It is only because you are a minor that we haven't seized the holdings as we would have had the vault-holder been an adult. You will not be obligated to reactivate the vaults until you are seventeen, but . . ." here he leaned in with a harsh expression, "Gringotts _highly _recommends you do so as soon as possible."

Heri sighed through her nose and looked over at the portfolio of parchment listing her vaults, properties, stock-holdings, and entitlements from various accounts. Grimbak had retrieved it when she told him that she had thought she only had one vault. She picked up the cover page and read the summary of her holdings.

**Herakles Lilith Potter**

**Evans - Heir by Blood**

_**Vaults:** #529 (14,437 Galleons)_

**Potter - Heir by Name and Blood**

_**Vaults:** #132 (68,032,268 Galleons, 13 Sickles, 23 Knuts and assorted items)/ #687 (45,100 Galleons, 9 Sickles, 14 Knuts)_

_**Properties:** Potter Estate. Hautmont. England/ Töpferei. Bavaria. Germany/ Bramblewood Hall. Massachusetts, U.S.A/ Vacation home. Verona. Italy/ Leonis House. Fife. Scotland_

_**Investments:** 42% Daily Prophet stocks/ 25% Magical Menagerie stocks/ 38% Nautilus' Newts stocks_

_**Entitlements:**__ Wizengamot Seat, 14 votes/ Earldom of Hautmont/ __Viscounty of __Harcourt__/__Barony of __Nettlestone__/ Barony of __Leonis_

**Black - Heir by Name and Magic**

**Riddle - Heir by Magic**

**Collections Account**

_**Vaults:** #782, #985, #639 (Total 196,284 Galleons and assorted items)_

A name jumped out at her. _Riddle? _What? Was this the same Riddle family that that beastly spectre from the haunted diary came from? If so, why was she set as their inheritor?

"What about the rest of these?" asked Heri, her voice revealing none of the breathlessness she felt. "Evans is from my mother, but what about this Riddle person?" As an after thought, she tacked on, "And what's a Collections account?"

Grimbak looked irked but resigned. He held his hand out for the summary and Heri gave it to him. He placed it on the desk between them and gestured for her to look.

"There are three ways to inherit accounts," he began. "The first is by blood, which means through the family." He pointed a clawed finger to Evans and traced down to Potter. "You are are the only child of the late Lily Potter whose maiden name was Evans and you are a Potter by birthright.

"The second way is if you are formally named as the inheritor, which is what happened with the Potter Estate, the Black Estate, and the Collections account."

Harry nodded slowly, settling herself.

"And what about magic? It has that here, next to Black and Riddle."

"Yes, that's rather irregular," Grimbak replied. "The most recent of the Potter family was known to have ties to the Blacks; I believe your grandmother was born a Black, from the main branch even. That you are named heir implies that whoever is before you in the line of succession was either childless at the time and still is, or has decided to not have children at all. A magical heir is created when an adult shares his magic with a child whose core is still developing; that you are the Black heir by name _and_ magic implies that whoever is before in the line of succession was close enough with your parents that they were allowed to perform an adoption ritual on you. Perhaps a godparent."

A godparent? Heri stiffened at the thought. Forget Riddle for a moment. Wasn't a godparent someone who was supposed to take care of her if her parents couldn't? If she had a godparent, where were they? Harry asked this out loud.

Grimbak shuffled through a separate stack of parchment and pulled out a faded looking sheet. His eyes widened minutely before he looked up again with a blanked expression.

"It says here that your godfather is Sirius Black, lately an inmate of Azkaban."

That certainly didn't sound good.

"Azkaban?"

"A wizard's prison, Ms. Potter."

The blanked expression had yet to change.

Well. Heri wondered if she should be surprised or not. A criminal for a godparent felt strangely appropriate.

Heri eyeballed her account manager.

"I'm not thrilled to hear it, but why are you so shocked by this? You seem almost bothered."

The goblin scowled.

"You seem to be in the habit of not knowing things. It has been all over the news that Sirius Black has recently escaped from prison. Your ministry is throwing quite a fit."

Huh. What odd timing. Heri pondered for a moment.

"What did he . . . ?" she began. She tapered off at the outright alarmed look on Grimbak's pointy face. "You know what? Never mind, I don't want to know."

Heri straightened and leaned over the parchment once more. She tapped at the edge.

"And this Riddle person?"

The goblin flipped through the pages again, then shook his head.

"No previous business carried out with that name, nor have I ever heard it used in context with the Potters. I would have assumed it to be another godparent" — Heri sicked up a little in her mouth at the thought — "but your godmother is listed as Alice Longbottom. She is, unfortunately," Grimbak continued, anticipating Heri's question, "currently in the care of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, in the Janus Thickey Ward for patients with minds declared irreparably affected."

"Any relation to _Neville _Longbottom?" asked Heri, perking up at the surname.

"I do not handle the Longbottom accounts," was Grimbak's flat reply.

Heri fought back the urge to give Grimbak the two-finger salute while she considered what he had told her.

So, she had possible familial connections with Neville as well as _Voldemort_. What utter madness. The raving ghoul tried to kill her and now it turns out she's been designated as his heir? Had her failure to die made her a worthy candidate to take over the position when he was done with it? Was this how Dark Lords passed on the torch or something? Well, whatever his intentions, if she ever got the chance to get her hands on his vault, she'd bleed him dry.

Heri motioned for Grimbak to continue.

"The next thing you should notice are the inheritable assets, the properties and investments. At the moment, you only have access to the Evans and Potter properties since you are the last living descendant. The other properties are off limits to you until the current Heads either gives you access or die. This is why their holdings are not listed."

Heri nodded in understanding.

"Entitlements," Grimbak carried on, "are the privileges granted by the Crown to the Noble Families, such as voting rights, to the Head of a House. Since you are the last of your line, you are automatically the Head of your House. However, you are not obligated to attend to your civic duties of participating in the Wizengamot until you formally claim your dominion, and by Family Law, you are not able to do that until your sixteenth birthday.

"I do, however, recommend seeing to your land as soon as possible. Towns and villages are generally self-sufficient in this day and age, but the county of Hautmont does not have a steward on record and it has been over ten years since the Potter family has sent anyone to see to it's people." Grimbak gnashed his teeth at his words. "They tend to pay their taxes more willingly when their leaders show active interest in them."

Bloody hell, she already got that he wanted her to accept her responsibilities, he didn't to lay it on so thick.

"Right," said Heri, giving him her flattest look. "Now. _What's a Collections account?_"

This earned her fangs bared in amusement. "Gringotts opens a special account for those that receive a significant amount of donations. It's common practice for many organisations, especially those that rely on charity. St. Mungo's, for instance, has one, and anyone who wants to donate money or entire vaults simply file for a transfer to the Collections account."

"_So. . ._" honestly, it was like pulling teeth! "Why do _I_ have one?"

"Are you familiar with your status as the Girl Who Lived, a highly celebrated hero?"

Heri nodded stiffly.

"#782 has been receiving regular deposits every July 31st and October 31st since 1982. Many fervent fans have signed over entire vaults to you on top of the usual trinkets. Since the Potter vaults were effectively frozen, Gringotts arranged for all gifts to be accounted for under a Collections ledger." Grimbak shifted and gave Heri a pointed look. "As to be expected, the fee for the upkeep of the account and vault has yet to be taken care of. Gringotts would urge you to settle your debts."

By the gods, could nothing be simple? Heri checked her pocket watch. It was well past lunch by now!

Heri deliberated for a moment.

"Are any of those houses liveable at the moment?"

"The vacation home in Verona is being rented out and the Potter Estate has been in heavy disrepair since the late Potters went into hiding. Töpferei, Bramblewood Hall, and Leonis House are whole, but the last of the house-elves died several years back and the properties have been neglected since then; we are unaware if taking up residence is advisable."

Hmm, well, it wasn't really a good time to leave England anyway. There wasn't enough of the holidays left to do any kind looking into those places. She'd just have to wait. In any case, it wasn't as if she would know what to do with them even if she _did_ go to check them over.

Heri got to her feet and stretched her legs discreetly.

"Alright. It's obvious that there's not much else I can do besides accept the heir rings. As soon as everything's active again, I want all the fees to be taken care of, alright? If something needs to be paid for, it gets paid at once. I don't want anymore of this decade-long tab rubbish."

Grimbak nodded his understanding and summoned an escort for her again. Another goblin — Griphook — took over from there and transported Heri to her vaults via the mining carts.

First she was taken to the Potter Family vault, which was deeper within the tunnels than her Trust vault. She was made to put her hand to a blank section on the ornate door to unlock it. A jolt of electricity and a drop of blood later, she was standing in a hall almost as big as the Great Hall at Hogwarts and thrice as decorated.

Among the glass pillars filled with gold coins and gems, the shelves of books and weapons, the tables of jars filled with what appeared to be potions ingredients, and all the other odds and ends, there was a pedestal in the very centre of the room. It was waist high with a red velvet cushion on it. As she walked over to it, Heri could see a trio of pale gold rings on the pillow.

Heri leaned in to observe the rings more closely. They were all signet rings and had small gems embedded around the band, but the seal on them were slightly different from each other. She figured that one was for the Head of House, one was for the Lady of the House, and one was for the heir. Problem was: she was technically all three of those things.

"Which one do I wear?" Heri asked Griphook, looking over her shoulder at him where he stood just outside the vault.

"At this point in time, it would suit you best to wear the heir ring, the one with only the heraldic animal on it. While you _are _Head of your House, your Family Law forbids you from formally claiming dominion until you are sixteen."

He gave her a peeved look, as if scolding her for asking such a stupid question.

Well, Grimbak _did _tell her the same thing earlier, so Heri supposed Griphook was allowed to be annoyed with her.

Heri picked up the one Griphook referred to and gave it a closer inspection. She had thought it to be some kind of dragon at first, but now that she got a better look, she saw that it was actually a hippocampus, the aquatic horse creature created by Poseidon. Perhaps the Potters before her believed in the Olympians as well. Pleased despite herself, a small smile touched her lips as she slipped the ring on.

As soon as the ring was snug, a gust of wind surged up, blowing Heri's hair back and fluttering her clothes. The ring became hot as a fire poker and seared the flesh under it. Heri let out a sharp cry of alarm and pain as needles seemed to stab into her chest, head, and what had to be her magic. The fire that burned her finger like a fresh brand flowed through her veins and her skin prickled like glass was digging into her. All the while, she felt like something was tearing into her brain, physically ripping her head open to get to her mind; it was judging her.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, the pain and power vanished.

Heri found herself on her knees, scrabbling her forehead with tears trickling down her face. Sweat prickled her brow. By the damned in Tartarus! What had all that been about?

Shakily, Heri stood, the pain and weakness flowing out of her with every steady breath she took.

"Congratulations, your ladyship."Heri looked up and scowled at Griphook at his words. "It appears that the Potter ring has accepted you."

"Thanks for the warning," Heri grumbled, brushing off her knees.

Heri was taken to Black vault soon after. At first, there was a moment wherein the door seemed uncertain if it was going to allow her in, but it eventually relented. Griphook told her that the hesitance likely came from the fact that her blood was more Potter than anything else, because the Black Family was notoriously picky about the purity of blood. In the end, it was likely because she had traces of Black magic on her that saved her from being attacked; that and the fact that the Black blood within her came from the main family. Not that it mattered much to Heri either way since she was once again sent to her knees from the debilitating pain of being judged by the Black heir ring.

When leaving Gringotts that afternoon to catch a late lunch, Heri wondered if topping off her money pouch had been worth all the trouble it took for her to finally be taken to her Trust vault. Her remaining aches voted against it.

* * *

**N**ow that Heri had her eyes opened to the reality of her semi-divinity, it was as if the floodgates of her presence had been burst open. Even without knowing she was Heri Potter, eyes followed her, both benign and malicious. She drew people in. But just as much as she received an increased amount of kindness from friendly folk, she also had those of ill-intent making grabs at her. It was both a blessing and a curse.

Heri had learned that while Knockturn Alley had been a dangerous place for her to wander before, it was a veritable death-trap now. She had only passed by the entrance one day and still she was almost plucked up in broad daylight by a hag. It was through her experience with those that meant to kill her and a gaggle of her newest admirers that she escaped with nothing more than a slimy feeling on her skin. She made a point to walk on the other side of the road whenever she went down that direction after that.

The Alleys were far more vast than Heri had expected. Hagrid had mentioned other streets when he showed her around, and she of course knew about Vertic, but it took her actually traversing the other Alleys to comprehend the reality of them. She had imagined short cul-de-sacs that branched off of Diagon; what she found was a spiderweb network of Alleys that hosted more than just a shopping district. Diagon, Knockturn, Vertic, Whimsic, Quizzic, Satiric, Casu, and a handful of others. She spent a goodly amount of time just wandering.

That day, Heri was in Whimsic, the Alley that hosted an abundance of enchanters, metal-workers, and body-modification businesses on top of the usual shops and pubs. It wasn't anywhere near as posh as Vertic or even Diagon, but the people were friendly and open. It also appeared to be the most liberal of the Alleys. She wasn't sure why, but she had sort of assumed that the other magical species didn't do much mixing with wizards; Whimsic had all sorts of non-human Beings carrying out their business. She wasn't sure if this was because of purposeful segregation or because the other Alleys just didn't cater to their needs.

Heri was currently in a shop that sold alternatives to wands. The layout was much like that of a jewelry store, all glass-casing and velvet lined shelves. There were two shop attendants that she could see, but one was absorbed in a magazine while the other attended to Heri. It wasn't a large place, maybe a touch bigger than the Dursley's sitting room, but it was well-kept despite its homey feel and there appeared to be a workshop in the back.

"What d'you think of _these?_" said a chirpy voice to Heri's right. She turned to see sandy-haired girl her age with a riot of freckles holding up what looked to be a pair of decorated hair-sticks.

Mayblossom Marsh was the daughter of a pub-owner that ran a business further down in Whimsic. They had met when Heri popped into The Green Dragon for a quick lunch and Mayblossom tried to deliver the order only to trip over the hem of her skirt and dump the food on Heri's lap. After the babble of loud apologies that drew the attention of not only the other patrons but Mayblossom's parents as well, Heri's was cleaned up and given another platter, free of charge.

The two girls had made friends when they bumped into each other again while Heri was browsing the fresh-produce market on the corner where Whimsic met Casu and Mayblossom had been out doing the shopping. Mayblossom was jittery and tended to babble on, but she was endearing and sweet. Heri kept the other girl company while she bartered and it eventually led to them making plans to met up more often.

They ended up shopping for alternative foci when Mayblossom discovered that Heri thought everybody had a wand.

"And I suppose every plain Jane has a bloke on a string just mad for her!" Mayblossom said to such an assumption. "I'd like to live in such a world! Where ever did you get such a thought?"

In confusion, Heri explained how everyone at school had wands as did every other wizard she had met before. Mayblossom got a strange look on her face before she regarded Heri seriously.

"Do you go to Hogwarts then?"

Heri frowned lightly.

"I do. But why are you asking?"

"Tell me, how many witches and wizards do you think there are in the world?"

"What?" Heri was puzzled at the non sequitur. She thought about it. "Erm, hundreds of thousands, I suppose."

Mayblossom smiled oddly.

"Heri, two percent of the human population is magical. There's about 1.2 million of us here just in the U.K. Out of that number, twenty percent of us are between the ages of eleven and eighteen; that's about 240,000 school kids. How many students go to Hogwarts right now?"

Heri thought for a moment.

"I've been told that the average is four hundred."

"So four hundred out of 240,000 kids. Where do you suppose all the others go to school?"

Heri looked on in disbelief.

"You don't mean to tell me that Hogwarts is the only school and everyone else just goes on without an education!"

Mayblossom waved a hand negligently.

"Of course not! I go to a school down in Margin Alley that specialises in witchery. Top of my class, I am; I make a damn fine potion. My point _is_ that only the cream of the crop have wands and go to Hogwarts; the best of the best. The people with the capability to do all the branches of magic are less than one percent!"

Mayblossom went on to explain that the common witch or wizard usually specialised in only one branch of magic, one that usually ran in the family. Because of this, most saw no reason to purchase a personal wand, especially not a proper one like from Ollivanders that was capable of performing magic of all types. Instead, they stuck to specialised foci, things made to work specific types of magic. They either bought them, made their own, or used ones that had been handed down for generations.

Heri had been intrigued at the notion of specialised foci. Mayblossom indulged Heri's curiosity by showing her around a shop know for its quality.

Heri smiled at Mayblossom and looked over the lengths of decorated wood in her hands.

"Are these supposed to be wands?" Heri took one of the thin sticks. It was much like a chopstick save for the coloured wire coiled at the handle and the polished stone capping the end. It was quite pretty; decorative without being showy. "I thought the point of coming here was to get something besides a wand."

"Well, there's not much point in that, is there?" Mayblossom shrugged. "You already have a wand so anything you might get would be unnecessary anyway. Since it's all the same, why not?"

"A secondary focus would come in handy in a pinch," Heri retorted. "There's nothing unnecessary about it."

"Oooh, why are so serious all the time?" Mayblossom complained. She reached up and pinned up one side of Heri's hair with the other skinny wand. "Have some fun, you stroppy thing! We already know these will be useful so why not focus on what will look prettiest on you?"

Heri eventually conceded the point and ended up an assortment of the foci in the form of grips, pins, bracelets, and the like. Most of them were one-use only and disposable, but she figured that if she was attacked again as she was coming to expect to happen, she would always have at least _something _in reach since it was expected that a girl would wear accessories. The ones that she expected greater use from were the single-purpose wands; she had learned that even though they weren't capable of magic beyond O.W.L.s level they lasted as long as they weren't broken and they weren't tagged with the Trace like proper wands were either.

Heri got a wand for every purpose the shop had available: Transfiguration; Charms; Divination; offensive magic; defensive magic; healing spells; protective spells; the works. After taking in the sight of herself with her hair pinned up by several wands-turned-hairsticks, she figured that this was an occasion wherein having long, sheep-like curls was actually benefit.

* * *

**S**ummer ended with little fanfare. Beyond a singular afternoon wherein the Minister of Magic had found her and made a great show of being relieved she was alive — since it came out that she was the likeliest target for that criminal godfather of hers who was on the run (she no longer had it in her to be surprised) — she did little more than mill around the Alleys, read up on her new electives, and finish up her school shopping.

Heri strolled through the length of the train, smoothing down the front of her uniform with a careful hand. It was a new uniform; she had actually done some growing over the summer. Well, the blouse and over-robes were new, her skirts from first year still fit. They were starting to get short though. She would have gotten new skirts as well, but she really didn't have the patience to stand around being measured when what she had still fit.

She had grown noticeably from last year. It seemed that when she wasn't looking, her body had decided to start climbing out of childhood. She was still short, but at least she was nearer to five feet than before; the clothes-maker in Diagon said she was four feet and eleven inches, a whole three inches taller than before. She wasn't quite certain, but it looked to her that her hips and bottom had gained width and definition. That might have been from the Quidditch training though. If worst came to worst and she grew enough during the year that her skirts became indecent, she'd just visit the clothier in Hogsmeade.

Speaking of growing . . .

Heri slid open door to Marcus' compartment and bounced in. She closed the door with a click and beamed at those within. What remained of last year's Slytherin Quidditch team was present along with Lucian and Graham, and all were sending her peeved looks for interrupting them during their scheming, but Heri ignored them in favour of her favourite person.

"Marcus, Marcus, look!" Heri cried. She cupped her breasts proudly. "I had to buy new bras this summer! Soon they'll be as big as the ones you ogle on the older girls!"

Her breasts really were the crowning glory of her summer growth-spurt (at least, in her adolescent opinion). Instead of the training camisoles she had been wearing since first year, she now fit into proper bras; the lady at the shop said Heri really should have started wearing them sooner because at the rate she was growing, she'd be wearing a b-cup at the end of the school year.

Marcus' eyes widened in alarm. Unbelievably, his cheeks glowed red as his eyes were drawn by the motion of Heri's hands. He caught one good look before he could stop himself and then promptly buried his face in his hands, muttering about going to hell.

To Heri's displeasure, Marcus refused to look at her for the rest of the journey.

* * *

**I**nexplicably, the train slowed. All within the compartment looked up from what they were doing to check the window. It had been drizzling outside and it looked to be getting heavier.

Lucian frowned and checked his watch. "We can't be there yet. It's nowhere near the right time."

"So why're we stopping?" said Curtis Urquhart, one of the Chasers.

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.

Heri, who was already standing up, went to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments.

The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

"What's going on?" said Peregrine Derrick, a Beater.

Heri closed the door again but didn't move to sit down.

"Doesn't look like anyone knows. D'you think we've broken down?"

"Dunno . . ."

There was a squeaking sound, and Heri saw the dim black outline of Lucian, wiping a patch clean on the window and peering out.

"There's something moving out there," Lucian said. "It looks people are coming aboard . . ."

"What?" said Heri incredulously. "Doesn't the Hogwarts Express only picked up at King's Cro—?"

The compartment door suddenly opened and someone ran straight into Heri, pitching them both to the floor.

"Sorry — d'you know what's going on? — Ouch — sorry —"

"Hullo, Neville," said Heri, feeling around in the dark and pulling the boy up with her as she got to her feet again.

"Heri? Is that you? What's happening?"

"No idea — here, sit down —"

There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on one of the other boys and stepped on a foot while he was at it.

"Everyone sit down and belt up," Marcus commanded. He cast a light-making spell, prompting the rest of them to do the same. "Vaisey, go ask the conductor what the hell's going on."

"Why does it have to be _me?_" Heri heard Vaisey grouse, but he got up all the same and she felt him move past her.

The door slid slowly open before Vaisey could reach it.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Vaisey's hand, was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. Heri's eyes darted downward, and what she saw made her stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak; glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed, like something dead that had decayed in water . . .

But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the cloak sensed Heri's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn into the folds of its black cloak. Then the thing beneath the hood, whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings.

An intense cold swept over the compartment. Heri felt her breath catch. The cold went deeper than her skin. It was inside her chest, it was inside her very heart . . .

Heri's vision went black and she felt herself falling. She couldn't see. She was drowning in cold. There was a rushing in her ears as though of water. The roaring grew louder and louder — And then, from far away, she heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading screams. She wanted to help whoever it was, she tried to move her arms, but couldn't . . . a thick white fog was swirling around her, inside her —

And then the fog churned and suddenly she was staring into a gaping maw. Closer and closer — she was being eaten alive! _No! _It was _(The sounds of someone stumbling from a room __— a door bursting __open — a cackle of high-pitched laughter —__) _swallowing her and it was dark and confining and _she couldn't breathe and _— War. Towering nightmares and the screams of the wounded. _("Not Heri! Take me instead!")_ Blood _everywhere; _on the ground, in the air, washing in with the tide filled with the dead, _and then_— She was running. She was running _("Stand aside, you foolish girl!")_ because _he_ was chasing her. A mocking voice echoed from behind _("I told you to move, mudblood!")_ her but he_ would not _catch her! He was not worthy! — They were sending her away? Why? No . . . No, don't! She would _("__Not H__eri__! Not __my baby__! Please — I'll do anything —"__)_ be good! _Mother, __p__lease, I'm sorry! __No, I don't want to be alone—__!_ Betrayal. It was all a lie. _("Not Heri! __Kill me instead__!")_ They had lied to her! _L__ied_ to her! _How dare they—?!_

"Heri! _H__eri__!_ What's wrong?! Wake up, Heri, _please!_"

The tempest of anguish lifted enough for Heri to hear the crackling of glass breaking and wood splintering. In the background, there were shrills of screams. _("Mama loves you, Heri. Be strong.")_ She distantly noted that her own voice was amongst the screaming.

* * *

**H**eri had to be carried off of the train. When she came to, the train was moving again and she was bundled up in someone's winter cloak. She had been told that the new D.A.D.A. professor had shown up while the foul beast ("Dementor," Neville had choked out, pale as milk) was looming over her and she was in the throes of a fit and making things explode while the others were taking cover. The professor had ordered them to keep her warm, gave them a bar of chocolate to feed her when she woke up, and told them to make sure she saw the nurse when they reached school. By the time they finally arrived, she was still too shaky to walk by herself.

As Heri was hauled into the castle, they were hailed by Professor McGonagall over the crowd streaming into the school. "Flint! I want a word with Potter!" She tacked on, "Granger, a moment with you as well," when she spotted Hermione Granger from Gryffindor.

"What d'you need with Heri?" Graham asked warily when they reached the professor. Professor McGonagall had a way about her that made students feel as if they were constantly on the verge of being in trouble.

"Calm yourself, Montague — I just want a word in my office," she told them. "The rest of you can move along. This discussion won't need a procession."

McGonagall had the remaining three students (including Marcus since he was still carrying Heri) accompany her across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor.

Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire, Professor McGonagall motioned to the seats. When Marcus settled Heri into a chair, the professor nodded her thanks to him and told him that he was free to return to the Great Hall.

When it was just the three of them, she settled herself behind her desk and said abruptly, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."

Before Heri could reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey came bustling in. Heri felt herself flushing. It was bad enough that she'd reacted so badly with that horrible creature without everyone making all this fuss.

"I don't need to be looked at," Heri said, "Really, Professor —"

"Oh, it's you, is it?" said Madam Pomfrey, bending down to look closely at Heri. "I suppose you've been doing something dangerous again?"

"It was a dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall.

The two older women exchanged a dark look.

Madam Pomfrey proceeded to look Heri over, clucking disapprovingly when she noted the shaking and hazy eyes.

"Setting dementors around a school," she muttered. "She won't be the last one who collapses. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who are already delicate —"

"Delicate!" Heri repeated, offended. When had she ever been described as delicate before?

"Hush now, don't work yourself up," said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking Heri's pulse.

"What does she need?" said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Bed rest? Should she perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"

"A night in the hospital wing might be just the thing; I'd like to keep her monitored until the shaking stops. She should have some chocolate as well."

"I've already had some, ma'am," said Heri. "Professor Lupin gave me some."

"Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies. I suppose you're a sight better than you were before then."

After deciding that Heri didn't need immediate medical attention, Professor McGonagall moved on to the real reason Heri and Granger had been summoned.

"Both of you have signed up for an unusual amount of classes. The usual limit on electives are three, but as you two are the top of your class, I petitioned the Ministry of Magic for the use of two Time-Tuners."

McGonagall went on to described how Time-Tuners worked, their limits (twenty-four hours), and how Heri and Granger were absolutely not allowed to let anyone else know that they had the things.

"For your studies only," she told them severely.

While Granger nodded her head solemnly, Heri wondered when giving time-machines to children became more logical that setting up evening and weekend classes. Not that Heri was complaining of course.

* * *

**T**here had to be something wrong with Draco Malfoy. On a chemical level, Heri thought. Why else would he walk up to a creature bigger than a horse with the talons and instincts of a bird of prey that had already been explained to take offense at insult and insult it; right within striking distance as well.

It was the first day of classes and Heri had been in a fine mood since the morning. The shakiness that came from dementor exposure was all gone when she woke up and she had been excited to start with her new classes. She had signed up for Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Ghoul Studies (the last being an extra-curricular class). Before she went to sleep last evening, she had spent a few minutes sketching out how she'd get to her classes and when she'd do homework. It was with great relief that she came to the conclusion that if she used the Time-Tuner as she had first thought to, she would have no trouble getting in work, sleep, and play between lessons; indeed she'd actually have lots of spare time.

Her first class of the day had been Divination, and it had proved to be as interesting though bewildering as she had been expecting. Professor Trelawney had been a masterpiece of showmanship, and even though Heri took her warning of deathly danger with more levity than what was likely appropriate, she thought the woman did a fair job of teaching her subject. Heri's contentment lasted right up to Care of Magical Creatures.

As soon as the announcement came that Hagrid would be teaching CoMC, Heri knew the lesson would be on something impressive. Lo and behold, she was correct, and the class was greeted by the most magnificent creatures she had ever seen, doubly so because they weren't trying to kill her. Hippogriffs: Creatures with the head and foreparts of an eagle and the hindquarters of a horse. When Hagrid asked for a volunteer, Heri didn't hesitate.

Heri and the hippogriff named Buckbeak had exchanged cordial bows, taken a short flight around the docks together, and had landed amongst the embolden class when Malfoy decided it was high time that he made an arse of himself.

As the others spread out amongst the other hippogriffs around, Malfoy decided on Buckbeak. While Heri still stood at Buckbeak's shoulder, he had approached the proud avian the same way Heri had.

And then he went and shot himself in the foot.

"I knew it must have been easy if Potter could do it. I bet you're not dangerous at all, are you?" Malfoy said to Buckbeak. "Are you, you great ugly brute?"

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Heri had tackled him to the ground while Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar. Malfoy and Heri laid curled in the grass, blood blossoming over their robes.

"I'm dying!" Malfoy yelled as the class panicked. "I'm dying, look at me! It's killed me!"

"_Are you a complete idiot?!_" Heri roared, startling Malfoy from his shrieking. She got up and wrapped her arms around her middle. Though Malfoy was clutching his forearm, it was obvious now that the majority of blood was actually coming from Heri.

Heri pinned him with a furious look.

"Professor Hagrid told us they take offense easily and you just insult one to its face? Do you have a death wish? If you want to die, Malfoy, there are easier ways of going about it!"

It was then that shock had worn off enough for the other students to react.

"Heri, oh my goodness, we need to get you to Madam Pomfrey!" wailed Megan.

Heri's friends surged forward and hovered frantically. Heri's robe was pulled aside to reveal a slash in her shirt from her hip to shoulder blade. The material was soaked down the side with blood and was dripping down her skirt.

The adrenaline drained out of Heri's system and she slumped into Hannah's side.

"I don't know how deep it is but I think I'll live," she assured them in a tiny voice. "No one else got hurt, right? None of the other hippogriffs spooked?"

Hagrid was then hoisting her up and cradling her like an infant.

"Let's get yeh to the hospital wing," he said in upset tones. He glared down at where Malfoy was being fawned over by Parkinson. "Malfoy. Yer comin' too. Fifty points from Slytherin fer ignorin' instructions and causin' injury to 'nother student. I don' think I have to tell yeh that I'll be takin' this up with the Headmaster."

The paleness of Malfoy's face when he heard his sentence detracted from Heri's pronouncement of him having a death wish. He was stupid, but she supposed there was _some _self-preservation in there.

"Why did you save me?" Malfoy asked later when Madam Pomfrey had finished patching them up. His tone was as accusatory as it was confused.

Heri had looked at him with all the scorn for his intelligence that she held.

"I don't like you, Malfoy. I've tried being civil, but you regularly try to pick a fight and make a scene. You're rude, conceited, prejudice, cowardly, and an awful bully.

"_But_," she continued when the boy grew red with anger, "never once have I wished you _dead_. You're a thuggish brat, but that's not exactly a hanging offense. You are _someone's _friend and you are someone's son. I don't agree with how you were raised, but it's obvious your parents love you very much. I might end up disliking them as much as I do you if I were to ever meet them, but I wouldn't let their boy die if there was something I could do to prevent it."

She narrowed her eyes at him.

"No matter how much a hideous, horrendous little haemorrhoid on the arse-end of society that boy is."

* * *

**H**eri ducked an arrow and flung herself down into a roll. Sweat trickled down her back and she panting shallowly for breath. She swung around a tree and sprinted back in the direction she came, forcing her attacker to stumble back to keep balance.

Her bare feet pounded the earth as she darted from tree to tree, using them as cover. Another whizzed by her ear. She cursed and barrel-rolled into the thick underbrush.

As she crawled out on the other side, a heavy hoof stamped the ground in front of her face.

Heri groaned and glowered up at the stern visage of Bane, her most stringent instructor.

"With such feeble evasive manoeuvres, I wonder how you've managed to survive this long."

"Come now, Bane," another voice added. Firenze trotted up, his bow over his shoulder. "It has been a good twenty minutes. You give her too little credit; you know she was injured today."

Bane snorted and tossed his head.

"A mere twenty minutes, you mean. And that injury was healed in a thrice by their healer. Get up," he directed to Heri. "We are nowhere near finished yet."

Heri huffed but climbed back on to her feet.

"I thought you were going to teach me how to fight and kill monsters," she said, combing out leaves from her hair. She was dressed in the bare necessities, just her undershirt and the shorts she wore under her skirt. Everything else, her robe, uniform, shoes, and hair-wands, had been left behind Hagrid's hut for safe-keeping.

Bane sent her an uncompromising look.

"To defend yourself from creatures that mean you harm you must first be able to get yourself in a position where you are not in striking distance. You must be able to evade."

Heri spent the rest of the evening before curfew getting herself boxed into a corner again and again. It was exhausting and infuriating but at least she could tell she was getting better. When the lesson finished for the evening, she even managed a thank you that was actually half-sincere.

Before she went to sleep that night, Heri threw her invisibility cloak over herself, padded down to the common room to the nook at the base of the stairs, and pulled out her Time-Turner. She gave the bauble twenty-four quick turns. When it was once again the night before the first day of classes, Heri crept back up the stairs to sleep in the bed left conveniently open by her younger self spending the night in the hospital wing. She'd have to find a different place to sleep the next day, but for now, she was too tired to think about it. Tomorrow, she would do her second schedule of the day.

* * *

**H**eri reread the notes she had written up during Arithmancy, checking to make sure they were understandable enough that the people that begged tutoring off of her would have little trouble understanding them.

**Numbers 1-9:**

**1: **Beginning, independence, innovation, leadership

**2: **Harmony, unity, relationships, collaboration

**3: **Imagination, positivism, playfulness, creative expression

**4:** Building, formation, hard work, endurance, sober-mindedness, practicality

**5:** Change, transition, progressive thinking, resourcefulness, freedom, versatility

**6:** Balance, nurturing, service-oriented, responsibility/duty, family focus, domestic and work issues

**7:** Analysis, research, solitude, wisdom, spiritual focus, investigative, mystical

**8:** Authority, finances, business, success, material wealth, organization, self-mastery

**9:** Endings, tolerance, metamorphosis, cosmic, teaching, global awareness, perfection

**Master Numbers:**

**11: **Master of Illumination, the inspirational messenger, the number of light; one who raises the consciousness, reformer of world problems, wants to uplift others, inspires by teaching own truth

**22: **Master Builder, visionary; knows how to plan and execute large projects; wants to further consciousness of humankind; the humanitarian

**33: **Teacher of Teachers, master of compassion, master of healing through love, use of creative energies to serve others

**Karmic Numbers:**

**10: **Renewal rebirth, karmic completion, master, beginning again with consciousness

**13: **Reworking karmic laziness through discipline

**14: **Remedying karmic abuse of freedom through order and stability

**16: **Remedying karmic abuse of responsibility and love through spiritual rebirth

**19: **Reworking karmic abuse of power through learning to show compassion and sacred use of cosmic wisdom for the greater good

Well, it _looked _simple enough.

* * *

"**A **Shrinking Solution? Really? Why don't we ever learn any of the _fun_ stuff?" said Heri suddenly, breaking the silence when she finally reached the Potion portion of her homework. She had worked through her shorter assignments already and hadn't been looking forward to what Professor Snape had assigned them.

Heri frowned down at the brewing instruction for the Shrinking Solution. Juice two shrivelfigs and use the juice as the potion base. Slowly increase the heat to a simmer while stirring gently. Add four finely minced daisy roots and five sliced caterpillars and increase the heat until the potion turns red. Add one tincture of well-shaken wormwood and stir clockwise vigorously until the potion turns yellow. Juice four leeches directly into the potion and stir anti-clockwise slowly for five counts until the potion turns purple. Shake one rat spleen and add it in along a splash of cowbane. Finally, let it boil on a high temperature. If done correctly, it should end up a bright, acid green.

Heri made a face at thought of touching an organ, especially one from a rat.

Megan tittered.

"Somehow, I can't imagine Professor Snape making 'fun' a priority."

Heri and the girls were holed up in Myrtle's lavatory, working on the homework they had been assigned that day. Normally, they would work in the common room or Library or out on the grounds, with the boys with them as well, but Wayne had detention with Snape and Zacharias and Ernie were putting off their homework to spy on the Ravenclaw Quidditch practice instead. The girls had chosen Myrtle's lavatory because it was a safe place to work on brewing; that and it excited the other girls to be so near the Chamber of Secrets.

It was a month and a half into the school year and already Heri was fed up with what they were learning. It wasn't that she thought it was unimportant, it was just that the subject matter was rarely something that had everyday use. Shrinking Solution, really? When would she ever need to have a living thing de-aged to infancy and shrunk down to the size of an action figure? And that was just Potions; the other core classes were just as superfluous.

Heri was through a textbook that hadn't been on the book-list that year. It was called _W__hich Way is Witch _and it was one of the books Mayblossom had mentioned learning from. It was pretty old-fashioned in mind-set by the standards Heri had grown up with, but it made up for its gender-biased instructing by being a Potions book with far more interesting recipes than the one Hogwarts used.

"See?" Heri said. "This one gives you the voice of whatever person you choose for three hours! And this one here; it's put in water and makes it taste like the favourite drink of whoever tastes it! I haven't seen a mention of rat spleens or caterpillars even _once_ in this book."

"Maybe we ought to transfer to that school your friend goes to," said Sally-Anne from where she sat on the counter of the sinks. She swung her legs idly as she looked over her parchment. "I much prefer what they teach over there over what Snape has us doing here."

Hannah looked up from the potion she was working on on the floor and scoffed at Sally-Anne.

"Oh, _there's _a brilliant plan: toss out a quality education that others would kill for to enroll in a second-rate school that peaks at O.W.L.s level. Why didn't I think of that before?"

Heri smiled wryly.

"Claws in, kitty-cat," she said in response to Hannah when Megan giggled and Sally-Anne looked ready to snipe back. "You know quite well that you'd throw a party if Snape turned in his resignation. If Sally-Anne wants to dream of running off to parts unknown, she's not alone in that respect."

Hannah rolled her eyes but conceded the point.

There was silence for a few moments save for the scratching of quill on parchment, the flicking of pages turning, and the bass rumble of potions boiling.

Heri gave the brewing instructions another glower before tossing aside the notes she had on the Solution with a huff. Brewing it wasn't a priority any way, they were going to make it in class the next day all the same; they had only thought to work ahead so they wouldn't be troubled during class.

"Are you alright, Heri?" Hannah said suddenly.

Heri startled lightly. She looked up to see her friends looking at her with concern.

"What do you mean?" said Heri.

Hannah hesitated and looked to the other two for support.

"It's just . . ." she began. "You've seem so agitated since school started."

Megan nodded.

"It's like you keep expecting something bad to happen."

Sally-Anne scoffed and flipped her hair.

"_Of course _she's worried something might happen; that Sirius Black bloke has it out for her!"

Megan scowled.

"Oh? Then why're you so concerned as well?"

"It's called caring for your friends. Just because I understand doesn't mean I'm not still worried!"

"Enough with the bickering already," Hannah said sharply.

Megan and Sally-Anne stopped, but sent her pointed looks.

Hannah sighed and turned back to Heri.

"We're just worried, you know? I've never actually seen you get angry before until that Care lesson with Malfoy."

Heri looked confused.

"I'm fairly certain that I proved how angry I could be when I smashed his face the year before."

"That was different," Hannah contradicted. "You weren't worked up when you did that. It was like you were just batting aside a fly. You weren't actually _angry _when you did it."

"Yeah," Megan chimed in. "I didn't know your face could actually do angry."

Heri sighed and tugged at a loose curl.

"I dunno really. Things just bother more lately. I get fed up quicker. I suppose even _I_ have a limit."

"Hormones," Sally-Anne announced. "We're at that age so it makes sense."

Heri snorted. "Wish I could turn it off then. Being angry is exhausting."

* * *

**H**alloween came with as much excitement and trouble as it did every year since Heri had started Hogwarts. Despite the fact the day had been made fantastic by the fact that it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, she could now say that it was tradition for things to go tits up when October 31st came rolling in. This year, Sirius Black made his presence known by slashing the portrait guardian of Gryffindor House, thoroughly traumatising the inhabitant of the portrait.

There had been a bit of a panic when the battered portrait was discovered and that panic escalated when they couldn't locate Heri afterwards while they were gathering the students to sleep in the Great Hall. Fortunately for the professors' blood pressures, Heri was found shortly after when she wandered back up from Sir Nicholas' Deathday party — where she had been doing hands on research for her Ghoul Studies class — with Myrtle chattering her ear off.

The professors would stay vigilant for the rest of the night as they searched the grounds, but nothing came of it in the end. Classes were carried out as usual, but everyone was confused why Sirius Black had tried to break into the Gryffindor common room when it wasn't a secret that Heri was a Hufflepuff.

* * *

**F**or a good week before the first Quidditch match of the year, the weather had been almost Biblical with its thundering and pouring. In a plot that was quite like them, the Slytherin team had weaselled out of playing and shoved Hufflepuff to take their place against Gryffindor. Cedric Diggory, their new Captain was none too pleased. As much as Heri adored Marcus, even she couldn't help but glower at him when she trudged in from having to practice twice as hard in gale-force winds.

The conditions on the day of was ridiculous. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. The wind was so strong that the player staggered sideways as they walked out onto the field. If the crowd was cheering, it couldn't be heard it over the fresh rolls of thunder.

Within five minutes of kick-off, they were all soaked through and frozen to the bone. The sky kept getting darker, as though night had decided to come early. It was only her enhanced eye-sight that kept Heri from crashing into other players like everyone else was and even then the rain still got in her eyes. The random flashes of lightning weren't helping either.

She turned, intending to head back toward the middle of the field where Cohen was fending off one of the Twins, but at that moment, another flash of lightning illuminated the stands, and Heri saw something that distracted her completely: the silhouette of an enormous shaggy black dog, clearly imprinted against the sky, motionless in the topmost, empty row of seats.

Wasn't that . . .? Didn't Professor Trelawney say—?

Then something odd happened. An eerie silence fell across the stadium. The wind, though as strong as ever, was oddly silent. It was as though someone had turned off the sound, as though Heri had gone suddenly deaf — what was going on? And then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over her, inside her, just as she became aware of something moving on the field below. . . .

At least a hundred dementors, their hidden faces pointing up, were standing beneath her.

Heri didn't hear the screams of the on-lookers when she slipped off her broom, she was lost to nightmares that tore into her when those cloaked devils surged up as if to receive her. She didn't feel anything when she was caught in a levitation spell that prevented from her cracking her head open but did nothing to impede the dementors from touching her. She was swallowed in the screams of the dying as those wretched wraiths converged on her.

Considering the reaction it could have caused, it might have been a good thing that the swarm of dementors prevented anyone from seeing the way Heri dissolved into a cloud of grey smoke in their midst.

* * *

**W**hen Heri recovered from the ordeal at the Quidditch match and was once again fit enough to satisfy Bane, she was back in the Forbidden Forest.

Her phantom form, as Firenze and Bane called it, proved to be supremely useful for all the evading Bane insisted she did. They had discovered that she was intangible to physical touch, though they weren't certain if that trait also included magical touch as well. Still, it was damn useful. There appeared to be three stages of it: corporeal — where she was merely intangible — semi-corporeal — wherein she was like a ghost in that she became translucent, colourless, and weightless — and mist — where she was a cloud of fog; the last form had the added benefit of swift travel as well.

After they had tested the limits of her new ability, and he was satisfied that she was equipped well enough to not get pinned, Bane chucked a bow and quiver at Heri; she would now help them control the Acromantula population.

* * *

**T**wo weeks before the end of the term, the sky lightened suddenly to a dazzling, opaline white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that turned out to be real, fluttering fairies.

The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays. Zacharias, Ernie, Hannah, and Wayne would be returning home, but Megan and Sally-Anne had decided to stay. Hannah had initially bounced back and forth between going and staying, but she eventually decided to go when her mother wrote and told her that they were going to host a Christmas party.

To the elation of everyone, another Hogsmeade weekend had been scheduled for the last day of term.

Despite the fact that nothing had happened the last Hogsmeade weekend, the teachers were unhappy at letting Heri go. They had been paranoid since Halloween, understandably so, of course. Not to mention her problem with the dementors. Still, her broom had been blown into the Whomping Willow when she fell from it and it was completely demolished; she needed to place an order for a new one and she could only do so in Hogsmeade.

As Heri was trotting toward the Entrance Hall to meet up with her friends, she was waylaid by Fred and George. The two boys sprang out from a tapestry, hoisted her up between them, and scurried back behind the tapestry before she knew what was going on. A few moments in the dark passageway led them through a secret entrance to one of the empty classrooms a floor up.

"Early Christmas present for you, Heri," said Fred as they put her down again. He pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it.

Heri, suspecting one of Fred and George's jokes, stared at it.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"This, Miss Potter, is the secret of our success," said George, patting the parchment fondly.

"It's a wrench, giving it to you," said Fred, "but we decided last night, your need's greater than ours."

"Anyway, we know it by heart," said George. "We bequeath it to you. We don't really need it anymore."

"And what do I need with a bit of old parchment?" said Heri, her tone as dubious as her expression.

"A bit of old parchment!" said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Heri had mortally offended him. "Explain, George."

"Well . . . when we were in our first year, Heri — young, carefree, and innocent —"

Heri snorted. She doubted that had been a time when Fred and George were innocent.

"— well, more innocent than we are now — we got into a spot of bother with Filch."

"So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual —"

"— detention —"

"— disembowelment —"

"— and we couldn't help noticing a drawer in one of his filing cabinets marked _Confiscated and Highly Dangerous._"

Heri groaned.

"Don't tell me . . ." She couldn't help the grin growing on her face.

They went on to detail how they managed to nick the thing from Filch — strategic Dungbombing — and expounded on how it had changed their lives.

"You're winding me up," said Heri, hands on hips, eyeing the ragged old bit of parchment.

"Oh, are we?" said George. He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, "_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._"

At once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider's web from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed:

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers,_

_are proud to present_

**THE MARAUDER'S MAP**

It was a map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labelled with a name in minuscule writing.

Astounded, Heri bent over it. A labelled dot in the top left corner showed that Professor Dumbledore was pacing his study; the caretaker's cat, Mrs. Norris, was prowling the second floor; and Peeves was currently bouncing around the trophy room.

"And you're giving this to me?" breathed Heri, looking up again.

"Well, you know . . ." said Fred, shrugging his shoulders but looking a bit awkward.

George looked at her seriously.

"It's just . . . with Sirius Black on the prowl, it's not safe for you to be wandering about without a clue. This way you'll be able to keep an eye out."

Oh, these two . . . Heri's heart clenched. That they were so concerned for her . . . She couldn't help but hug the life out of them.

"Right," said George briskly, patting her fondly on the head. "Don't forget to wipe it after you've used it —"

"— or _anyone_ can read it," Fred continued warningly.

"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' And it'll go blank."

"So, Miss Potter," said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy. "Mind you behave yourself."

They escorted Heri to where her friends were waiting and left to go meet up with their own after giving her knowing winks. Heri's friends brushed it off as the eccentricity inherent to the Twins and left it at that.

* * *

**H**eri sighed heavily through her nose, the air expelled freezing as it went, making her resemble a dragon as it snorted smoke in warning. It was Christmas day, nearly lunchtime, and she was outside by the lake, sitting on a large boulder that was at the top of a large pile-up of stones. It was a good seven feet off the ground and a popular place for the older years to hang out. Heri was there that day because she needed to get out of the Castle.

"Oh, but, Heri—" Megan had begun to protest when Heri had excused herself.

Sally-Anne had hushed the Megan with a pointed looked and tugged her along. Sally-Anne was the one that was the most sensitive to Heri's mood; she knew when Heri wasn't up to humouring a tag-along. It was decided that the two of them would remain inside for the festivities while Heri pulled herself back into a temperament that was suited for public appearance.

It wasn't Heri's way to be a Grumpy Gus, especially during parties or celebrations, but there was just no hiding her discontent at the moment.

She had received a Firebolt among her gifts that year, a Firebolt being an internationally recognised racing broom, the best broom currently on the market, the one that the professional league swore by. Megan had all but fainted when she saw it; her older sister had been raving about it when it first came out. Even Sally-Anne — the one notorious for her lack of appreciation for Quidditch — was mightily impressed. Naturally, they had went down to Christmas breakfast giddy with excitement, over the moon and ecstatic to show Professor Sprout; she had concerns that Heri wouldn't get a new broom in time for Hufflepuffs next match and would be relegated to one of the school brooms which were iffy at best.

All that excitement got shot to hell when the professors learned the Firebolt came without a note.

So what if it came without a note? She got dozens of anonymous gifts year round and they never made anything of _those!_ And did they really think that Sirius Black was able to just walk into a sporting goods shop without any fuss? Why would he waste money on a broom worth more than all seven of the Nimbus 2001s that Malfoy had bribed his way onto the team with if he was going to buy a broom to jinx anyway? But none of those protest made a difference — Heri's Firebolt was confiscated for checking before she could even get one ride in.

This Sirius Black business and all the paranoia that came with it was really starting to infuriate her.

As if summoned by Heri's ire, Hedwig came flying out of nowhere and landed beside her.

"Hedwig." Heri blinked. "Merry Christmas. What are you doing out here?"

Hedwig spent most of her time either terrorising the owls in the Owlery that she had turned into her acolytes or terrorising the denizens of the Forbidden Forest that she tormented like a wicked deity. Heri had yet to need to send out any letters during the school year so Hedwig was largely free to do whatever she wanted. Provided she didn't kill anything important of course.

Today, Hedwig was a parakeet, and she looked as out of place as . . . well, as out of place as a tropical bird in Scotland during the winter. She fluttered her wings importantly and stuck out one of her legs.

Nonplussed, Heri saw that there was a letter tied to Hedwig's leg.

There were several questions that could be asked at this time, but the most important in Heri's opinion was, "Someone approached a parakeet to deliver a letter?"

Hedwig's warble was not an answer.

Not knowing what else to do, Heri retrieved the letter and opened it.

_Dear Heri,_

_A Shuffling Whipplestumper has brought it to my attention that you're bothered by something. I don't know exactly what that something is, of course, but I thought a letter might make you feel better all the same. I would come in person but Daddy and I are in Newfoundland, looking for Muddy Prizzicks. _

_I hope you liked the bracelet to keep away Nargles I made you for Christmas. I used the prettiest bottle-caps I could find, you know. I would have made you a necklace, but I think a bracelet suits you better._

_Hope you feel better,_

_Luna_

_P.S. __W__henever I'm feeling gloomy, I like to knit. Daddy calls it a ladylike hobby. It's a habit that runs through Mummy's family, you see. I thought maybe you'd like to take up needlework as well, since I find it very soothing._

The envelope Luna's letter came in appeared to be expanded on the inside. Carefully sticking her hand in, Heri pulled out sturdy white handkerchief set within an embroidery hoop. There was a faint outline of a flower in the cloth and a threaded needle was tucked into the side of the hoop.

Heri stared at the readied handkerchief with no little bemusement. How Luna knew Heri needed cheering up, Heri would never know. Still, it was very sweet of her.

Not seeing any reason not to, Heri began making stitched along the cloth flower.

* * *

**I**f there was one person that Hermione Granger could say with confidence that she hated, it was Heri Potter.

Ever since first year, Potter had been showing Hermione up in one way or another. If she wasn't being acclaimed as a Transfiguration prodigy, she was turning in homework of a quality that Hermione slaved away for hours to research and write up while still having loads of time to goof around with her friends and being a general Queen Bee. It was so unfair! Hermione worked so much harder at being the top of the class and yet Potter just breezed through with nary a sweat.

And she was on the Quidditch team.

And she was pretty.

How was it possible for a person to be smart, sporty, _and _attractive? Hermione had comforted herself all her younger years that it was only the lucky few that could manage two out of three! And then she arrived at Hogwarts where being two out of those three things was commonplace, and there were plenty of students — boys and girls — that managed all three: Cho Chang, the Weasley twins, Katie Bell, Cedric Diggory, Roger Davis, Lucian Bole, and Fay Dunbar just to name a few. And Heri Potter was at the top of the list. It was enough to drive someone insane.

Hermione had thought she'd get a leg up on academics by getting a Time-Tuners to attend all the electives as well as core classes, but it was like Potter was always one step ahead. Potter had received a Time-Turner as well, was taking just as many classes as Hermione. This might not have been so frustrating if it wasn't for the fact that Hermione was scrabbling to get all her assignments done on time while squeezing in sleep and eating whenever she could manage, but from all appearances Potter wasn't having a lick of trouble at all, she was seen just as often relaxing with her friends without cracking open a book as the years before.

It was so unfair! Hermione studied for more than an hour before every class, going over theories, the arithmetic calculations, the wand movements, but she never achieved the same results as Potter, and she was never praised the way Potter was. Oh, sure, she gained loads of points for Gryffindor and none of the professors had anything bad to say about her work, but Hermione doubted she'd ever gain the level of affection they all seemed to have for the other girl.

It wasn't just the professors that loved Potter either, the girl had friends in every House, never mind her fans. She had theoretical discussions with the Lovegood girl and the sycophants in Ravenclaw; she had wrapped the Slytherins around her little finger so thoroughly that it was only blood-supremacist bullies like Malfoy and Parkinson that disliked her; it didn't even needed to be said that Gryffindors adored her, the Weasleys treated her like family, and the girls in the years above and bellow couldn't get enough of talking primping with her.

Hermione was forever on the end of a nagging from Lavender and Parvati about doing something about her frizzy curls, but Potter — whose hair was just as untamed, albeit without the frizz — was fawned over for her thick hair that she recently started pinning up with those hair-sticks.

"Where _do_ you get your accessories?" Lavender had asked, that ridiculous pouting look on her face that made the boys in their year go stupid.

"Just here and there," Potter had replied, shrugging as if it was of little consequence, a coy look on her face that made the boys just as stupid as when Lavender was prancing about. "A friend of mine took me shopping during the summer and we picked up quite a haul. You should come around and see all the cute clips and pins I picked up. I have a few that would look _perfect _on you."

_That _was one of the top students in their year. That frivolous bobble-head more concerned about looking good and having fun than learning was Hermione's scholarly rival. It boggled the mind.

She was just as frivolous and flighty in classes too. Just the other day, in Ancient Runes, Potter had finished the assignment — a Runic crossword puzzle — early, and decided to show off for her friends. It was like she couldn't be bothered that others were still working and needed quiet to think! They were _technically_ allowed to discuss the questions with their neighbours, but really, it was so _obvious_ that Professor Babbling wanted them to do it by themselves.

Really. It didn't matter that the professor never scolded anyone for talking.

"_Fehu is cattle, or money, or wealth_," Potter had sang, drawing the rune in the air with coloured mist. The rune then shifted into a herd of animals. "_Uruz is aurochs of strength and of health;_" — another rune; another representation — "_Thurizas' prickly, a thorn or a thurs; Ansuz is Odin, a mouth, or a verse._"

Potter's entire song went along this vein: stating the rune and giving it a basic, easy to remember definition. With every Rune that she drew, images churned out, dancing in the air. Her friends were enthralled.

"_Raido is riding so tiring and long; Kenaz, a torch burning brightly and strong; Gebo's a gift, an exchange, an award; Wunjo is joy, sweet contentment's reward._

"_Hagalaz, hail both harmful and good; Naudhiz, our need, helps up learn what we should; Isa, ice deadly, a danger unknown; Jera, the year, we will reap what we've sown._

"_Eiwaz, the yew, reaches into the skies; Algiz, the elk-sedge, is foeman's demise; Perthro, the dice cup, is wyrd, luck, or fate; Sowilo, the sun, circles ever so great._

"_Teiwaz is Tyr bringing justice and right; Berkana, the birch, is fertility's might; Ehwaz, the horse, is your partner and friend; Mannaz is people with lives that will end._

"_Laguz, the lake, is both treacherous and deep; Inguz is Frey whose abundance we reap; Othala, sweet home, is our ancestral right; Dagaz, the daybreak, turns darkness to light._"

"Well done, Potter!" Professor Babbling had said in her raspy voice. "Ten points to Hufflepuff for creative learning methods."

Potter had turned an ancient, sacred language used in magical practices for over a thousand years into a primary school nursery rhyme. And she had been praised for it.

Hermione couldn't stand it! She hated Heri Potter, hated everything about the girl! She hated—!

"Granger?"

Hermione looked up with a start. It was Potter, Abbot, and Macmillan.

"What is it?" said Hermione, her tone wary.

She was in Ancient Runes again, her last class of the day. Hermione would have been eager to get through the lesson and then be able to jump on her homework, but Professor Babbling had just assigned a group project and had told them to get into groups of four. All of Hermione's primary school misery at not having friends to group up with came rushing back.

Why? Professor Babbling had never assigned a group project before! Why suddenly in the last term?

She had just been about to ask the professor if she could do the assignment by herself when the root of all her current academic misery reared her hatefully beautiful head.

Potter cocked her head and smiled pleasantly at Hermione.

"Want to join our group for the project? Ron's told me you're _amazing_ in Runes."

_Did she just . . . ?_

Tears of awe and relief prickled Hermione's eyes.

"Yes, thank you," she croaked. "I'd love to."

Hermione Granger _loved_ Heri Potter. She loved the other girl with all the piety of a heretic just now seeing the light.

* * *

**S**omething whooshed suddenly out of the end of Heri's wand — it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

"Did you see that?" said Heri excitedly. "Something happened!"

When classes started again after the winter holiday, Heri had sought out Professor Lupin for anti-dementor lessons. She had talked to him about them before, but he was too busy at the time. Fortunately, his schedule had cleared up and he now had time to teach her the spell he had used on the train to drive away the dementors.

They were in the History of Magic classroom, and Professor Lupin had brought a boggart in a locked trunk. They, of course, couldn't work with a real dementor, but the professor concluded that a boggart-dementor would better suit their purpose.

"Very good," said Professor Lupin, smiling. "Right, then — ready to try it on a dementor?"

The first few times against the boggart-dementor failed miserably. Though it wasn't as potent as a true dementor, the boggart was still very convincing. Heri ended on the floor both times, tears running down her face and shudders racking her form.

Professor Lupin looked terribly guilty.

"Listen, Heri — perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced. . . . I shouldn't have suggested putting you through this. . . ."

"No!" said Heri. She got up again. "Please, sir, I must be just doing something wrong! I'm not thinking of happy enough things, that's what it is. . . . Hang on. . . ." She racked her brains. A really, really happy memory . . . one that she could turn into a good, strong Patronus . . .

The moment when she'd first found out she was a witch, and would be leaving the Dursleys for Hogwarts! If that wasn't a happy memory, she didn't know what was. Concentrating very hard on how she had felt when she'd realised she'd be leaving Privet Drive, Heri got to her feet and faced the packing case once more.

"Ready?" said Professor Lupin, who looked as though he were doing this against his better judgment. "Concentrating hard? All right — go!"

He pulled off the lid of the case for the third time, and the dementor rose out of it — the room fell cold and dark —

"_EXPECTO PATRONUM_!" Heri bellowed.

The screaming and flashes of images inside Heri's head had started again — except this time, it was as though it were coming from a badly cabled television — softer and louder and softer again — and she could still see the dementor — it had halted — and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Heri's wand, to hover between her and the dementor, and though Harry's legs felt like water, she was still on her feet — though for how much longer, she wasn't sure —

"_Riddikulus_!" roared Professor Lupin, springing forward.

There was a loud crack, and Heri's cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor. She sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if she'd just run a mile, and felt her legs shaking. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand; it had turned into a silvery orb.

"Excellent!" Lupin said, striding over to where Heri sat. "Excellent, Heri! That was definitely a start!"

The praise was welcomed, as were the obvious results. They ended the lesson there with an agreement that they would continue at a later date.

* * *

**S**irius Black was spotted again, this time actually _in _the Gryffindor dorms. The word was that he was slashing open _Ron's _bed-curtains when the boy woke up the tower with his screams. And too make things worse, he had escaped again.

Professor McGonagall had torn into their new portrait guardian when he told her that he had let Black in, and just about murdered Neville when she found out that he had left out a list of the passwords the portrait guardian would use. Neville had come sniffling to Heri when it came about that the other Gryffindors were snubbing him again because they were angry with him and because Professor McGonagall had ordered them to not tell Neville the password anymore. Heri could understand her reasoning, but as she comforted Neville in his misery, she couldn't help but think that the Professor was being too harsh.

Professor McGonagall was not the only professor that amped up House security. Though Black seemed fixated on Gryffindor, all Heads of House circled the wagons. No one was allowed to go anywhere without at least two other people accompanying them. Now, this might not have bothered Heri if it wasn't for the fact that it came about that _she _couldn't go anywhere without all six of her friends and a prefect to boot. And even with _that_, her friends picked up on their hovering. If it wasn't for her Invisibility Cloak and Time-Tuner, she wouldn't have had a moment's peace.

Heri jabbed her needle furiously into the soft cloth she was embroidering and hissed when she pricked her thumb. She stuck the wounded appendage into her mouth and glowered at the now blood-dotted handkerchief.

"If you are quite done with doing yourself injury," said Firenze, trotted up into the clearing they trained in. "We're patrolling the western edge today."

Sighing, Heri took up her bow.

* * *

**G**ranger had been on the verge of cracking since that lesson with Professor Trelawney when the old bird told her that she didn't have the talent for it. She had hid it for the most part, but Heri didn't doubt that being told she wouldn't be good at something because of her natural disposition was more than the girl could take. With the way she seemed to be using her Time-Turner ineffectively — if her frazzled, twitchy attitude was anything to go by — it wasn't surprising that her blow-up was as spectacular as it was.

Granger's breakdown came in parts actually. Her temper got the best of her after Care when Malfoy was laughing at Neville for falling into the mud when one of Malfoy's goons pushed him. Ron and his friends had made furious moves to get to Malfoy, but Granger got there first.

_SMACK!_

Granger had whacked him across the face with all the strength she could muster, sending the wretched boy stumbling backward. Even then, she stalked after him.

"Don't you _dare _call Neville pathetic, you foul — you evil —" she snarled, drawing out her wand.

"Hermione!" said Ron weakly as he tried to grab her arm as she swung it back.

"Get _off, _Ron!"

Malfoy made his escape, doing nothing for Granger's mood.

Heri heard from Neville later that Granger had actually missed Charms as well.

They had Divination that day, starting in on crystal ball reading. Heri had bought a few books on the subject when she saw it mentioned in the textbook index, and she could honestly say that she had been looking forward to this form of divining most out of all the others. Crystal ball reading was so versatile! Not only was it used for to foretell future events, it could show past events, be used to seek advice, learn more about a person, and even scry. It was like the Swiss army knife of divinatory tools, multi-purposed and less labour-intensive than cartomancy. Unfortunately, Granger seemed to share none of these opinions.

"Good day to you!" said the familiar, misty voice of Professor Trelawney as she made her usual dramatic entrance out of the shadows. "I have decided to introduce the crystal ball a little earlier than I had planned. The Fates have informed me that your examination in June will concern the Orb, and I am anxious to give you sufficient practice."

Granger snorted audibly from the next table over.

"_H__onestly_ . . . 'the fates have informed her' . . . who sets the exam? She does! What an amazing prediction!"

"Crystal gazing is a particularly refined art," Professor Trelawney continued dreamily, as if she hadn't heard Granger. "I do not expect any of you to See when first you peer into the Orb's infinite depths. We shall start by practicing relaxing the conscious mind and external eyes so as to clear the Inner Eye and the superconscious. Perhaps, if we are lucky, some of you will See before the end of the class."

Granger then took to sniping over every little comment Professor Trelawney made as she coasted through the room. The professor was peering into Heri's — because Heri and commented that she was seeing a shape she couldn't identify — and had once again started her scheduled declaration of, "My dear . . . It is here, plainer than ever before . . . my dear, stalking toward you, growing ever closer . . . the Gr —"

"Oh, for _goodness_' sake!" Granger busted out loudly. "Not that ridiculous Grim _again_!"

Professor Trelawney took such a declaration as well as one might expect.

Granger then took the resulting belittling of her 'hopelessly mundane mind' just as unsurprisingly.

Though they should have seen it coming, it was still a shock to all present when Hermione Granger — she of the opinion that to get expelled was worse than death — metaphorically threw her hands in the air and then not so metaphorically rage-quit Divination.

* * *

**I**t was times like this that made Heri wonder if she should find someone to write a biography on her and then market it in the Muggle world as a multi-volumed fantasy series. Boost the family coffers and all that. She could become an internationally acclaimed author. Her nom de plume could be Helena Han Boskett.

It all got bollixed up when Heri had been searching for Marcus after the exams with the Marauder's Map and had then seen 'Sirius Black' out on the grounds with 'Ronald Weasley' and 'Peter Pettigrew' being dragging along toward the Whomping Willow. There were so many things wrong with that picture that Heri didn't waste any time high-tailing it out of the castle. It was only luck that had her running into Professor Lupin on the way down.

The luck involved bordered on the edge of 'bad luck' when it appeared that Black and Lupin were pals and that they were laying the blame of betraying her parents to Voldemort and the killing of thirteen Muggles on the tiny shoulders of Ron's pet rat, Scabbers.

"So . . ." Heri had exchanged looks with the also dubious Ron, he who was so bewildered that he had seemed to forget that his leg had been broken. "Scabbers was once a wizard that decided to turn himself into a rat because he made friends with a werewolf, and werewolves are cool with rats. Werewolves are also cool with giant dogs and deer.

"Then there was a war and everyone engaged in guerrilla warfare over whether muggleborns are people too. Scabbers in his Peter form fought against the Dark because all his friends did and he's the type to follow the crowd. And then he betrayed his werewolf — who was and still is Professor Lupin — and his dog and deer — who're Sirius Black and my father — to join the Dark Side because he decided they were no longer important even though he spent all that time to turn himself into a rat and fight with them because—because . . ." she eyeballed the still struggling Scabbers. "Um . . . because Voldemort had a snake that could eat him? You didn't really explain that last part, sir."

"It's unimportant at this point, Heri," Professor Lupin said tiredly. "What's important is that Peter get taken care of."

"I'm not saying I believe you," Heri said, crossing her arms.

"Then it's time we offered you some proof. Mr. Weasley — give me Peter, please. Now."

Ron had clutched Scabbers closer to his chest.

"Come off it. Are you trying to say he broke out of Azkaban just to get his hands on _Scabbers_? I mean . . ." He looked up at Heri for support. "Okay, say Pettigrew could turn into a rat — there are millions of rats — how's he supposed to know which one he's after if he was locked up in Azkaban?"

"You know, Sirius, that's a fair question." Lupin turned to Black and frowning slightly. "How _did _you find out where he was?"

Black put one of his clawlike hands inside his robes and took out a crumpled piece of paper, which he smoothed flat and held out to show the others. It was the photograph of Ron and his family that had appeared in the _Daily Prophet _the previous summer, and there, on Ron's shoulder, was Scabbers.

There had been a few more minutes of back and forth in which Professor Lupin talked Ron into giving up Scabbers for the Animagus revealing spell, but the professor eventually got his way. It was a good thing too, because as soon as the spell it, they were greeted by a rodent-like but definitely human man where Scabbers once was.

That had been sufficient proof for Heri.

While Pettigrew was mid-wheedling for his life, Heri plucked her Transfiguration wand from her hair and shrunk his arms and legs to stubs before he knew what was happening. Unable to move beyond wriggling his torso, Pettigrew had squealed and whined in terror.

"Heri!" Ron yelped. "What did you—? Is he—?"

"His limbs are only shrunken, Ron," said Heri, her specialized wand still trained on Pettigrew. "I don't claim to be a judge, but a grown man living as a young boy's pet is a criminal enough even without being a mass murderer and the reason my parents are dead. We are taking him to the headmaster and contacting the DMLE at once."

And all of that would have been resolved if it hadn't been for the dementors that had noticed that Sirius was on the grounds while they were marching back up to the Castle.

* * *

**F**rom atop the West Tower that over looked the Forbidden Forest and the Whomping Willow, a figure witnessed the scene unfolding on the green.

It was truly a singular spectacle. A veritable flood of soul-sucking wights were descending upon a single fallen man while a young girl raced towards him, and another grown man fought to carry an injured child while also hauling a prisoner up to the safety of the castle, all the while calling back that he would bring help.

Actually, now that he was thinking of it in those terms, it wasn't that singular at all. Such happenings were quite commonplace back in the early ages.

It was still unusual though.

He watched as the ghastly phantoms surged closer, reaching out with their putrid hands to grasp at the fallen man as well as the girl. Before his eyes, she snarled a filthy word and . . . _shifted _into an amorphous form.

Now _this _was interesting; he hadn't known she was capable of such a thing.

Now in similar make as the spectres leering down at them, the girl surged up, trailing smoke, and — with dark tendrils that appeared out of her back — latched onto one them that was clutching at the man. There was a screeching sound as she heaved a steadying breath. Suddenly her mouth became a maw and she was _inhaling _the beast much like the way they did souls. As the creatures recoiled momentarily, she grew more blurred at the edges and her tendrils lashed the air like a kraken whipping its tentacle.

The monsters were not deterred for long though.

He watched as the girl retrieved a wand from her hair and shouted, "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!_" while jabbing the wooden rod into the air. Lo and behold, a dazzling, blinding, silver animal burst forth from her wand.

Was that . . . ? Was that a _platypus? _Hmm, it could be a tadpool as well . . . Well, whatever it was, it charged at the swarming wraiths and drove them back. It seemed that the child had hit upon their one true weakness. They were falling back, scattering, retreating into the darkness of the evening.

That little girl had driven off a murderous flock of those hellish creatures with one spell. He was not familiar with these wizarding types, but he was duly impressed but such a feat all the same.

It seemed that his lord's new fascination was living up to expectation. He would be delighted to hear so.

Without a sound, he shifted to smoke and melted into the night.

* * *

**AN1: **A reviewer brought it to my attention that some of you might be confused about implied events that I didn't write about. I'm sorry, I didn't realize that might throw some of you off. If I don't make mention of an event, it happens as canon. So, since Ginny being possessed wasn't discussed, everything that happened with her was exactly like the book.

**2\. **The rune poem/song mentioned was written Annalemma McKee-Schwenke. She's not a part of , I found her when I was looking for songs to memorize Elder Futhark.

**Also: **If you haven't noticed, the titles I gave to Heri are fake IRL. There are no counties of Hautmont or Souscolline or any of the others anywhere in the UK. I've always thought it would make sense if the Wizarding World made stretches of land Unplottable to muggles when they separated. I can't imagine people like the Blacks and Malfoys giving up their properties and entitlements, especially to the muggles they looked down on. This is basically my head canon. I got the idea from Josephine Darcy's The Marriage Stone, but honestly, it just makes sense to me.

I know all the titles seem a bit excessive, but I did a little research on it and found that it was very common in the 17th century for noblemen to bulk up their status with subsidiary titles. This was also for the benefit of the eldest son, who would use the highest subsidiary title as his own. For example, the Duke of Norfolk is also the Earl of Arundel (among other things), so to give the son some responsibility, the son goes by the courtesy title of Earl of Arundel even though he wouldn't be the actual Earl until his father dies. Rest assured, the titles won't be a huge part of the story, they're just there for what I consider realism.


	5. The Metamorphosis pt 2

**AN:** Sorry for the wait, ya'll. I was caught up with no internet for a while when my aunt's husband had to go to the doctors' for heart problems; I was recruited to take care of her absolutely no-tech house while her family camped out at the hospital. He's on his way to full recovery though, so yea. On top that and the regular RL stuff that I'm obliged to pay attention to, I've been working on and off on lesson plans and material for ESL courses my mother teaches at universities and hotels. She's not tech savvy or one for information gathering, so I write up her lesson plans and handouts for her.

**Shout-out** to jbern's _**The Inner Eye of Harry Potter**_ for the Divination discussion between Heri and Sally-Anne. I recommend this story if you like Ravenclaw!Harry, light bashing of canon MCs, and Harry acting like an 'average' teenage boy. I admit, the two latter qualifications don't usually suit me, but I know a strong story when I read one. It's unfinished though, so don't get too attached.

**NOTICE: **Fourth year will be split into two chapters as it ended up being a lot longer than I expected it to be. This is purely for my own aesthetic senses as both chapters will be going up at the same time anyway. Since it'll be a double update (sort of), I hope it makes up for making ya'll wait so long.

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Metamorphosis pt. 2**

* * *

**I**n a location parallel to time and space, wide, doe-like eyes flew open. With a gasp, a woman jolted up from where she had been lying, a hand clutching at her throat. Her other hand clawed at the fabric of her dress as she panted as if she had been running for miles.

She took a moment to compose herself before her brown eyes narrowed.

Something was not right.

This bore intervention.

* * *

**F**rom its ground-hugging position at the feet of a tattered armchair, a lengthy, green snake sat coiled in wait. Its keen, unblinking gaze was locked on the men in the middle of the ill-kept, shabby room. In the gloom of the dimly-lit sitting room, they could have been arrested from just how suspicious the proceedings appeared.

One of the men was very modest-looking, he could have passed for anything from an office-worker to a farmer if he hadn't looked like he had been severely beaten with a plank of wood before being dragged across the countryside through the dirt and muck. This man was unconscious and spread across a dusty, low-standing coffee table with one of the other shady fellows hovering over him with a polished stake of wood, prodding at him harshly. For whatever reason, the unconscious man didn't wake up despite the rough treatment.

The second man was a fair-haired, pale fellow that might have passed as attractive if it wasn't for his stress-lined face and the distinct madness he exuded. He was crouched over the first man like a vulture looming over its fallen prey. With a steady hand that belied the mania of his expression, he bound his victim through invisible forces.

The third man was what elevated the proceedings from merely suspicious to horrific. Flesh sagged in the most unflattering way. The skin was unhealthy and limp with that oily sheen meat got when it wasn't only rotting, but hosting maggots that were finally mature enough to begin eating their way out into the open. Leathery patches of hair and skin were hanging off in the way of an animal that had run afoul with a wood-chipper. His body was draped across a faded settee and if it wasn't for the occasional blink, one would have thought him to be as dead as he looked. As it was, it was difficult to be be certain if such a creature was a true man or a reanimated carcass.

"_I grow tired of waiting_," the vision of horror said in a breathy, groaning voice. His tone was flat and impatient. As he spoke, the chapped skin of his lips split apart, oozing congealing blood and pus.

"Wait no more, my lord," said the fair-haired fanatic, stepping away from the prostrated body and lowering himself into the dust in a kneel. "The body is ready to receive you."

The abomination of a living thing creaked to his feet and made his ungainly way over to loom over the unconscious man like his servant had. Flakes of unknown substances fell from him as he teetered forward. Without further ado, he then climbed onto the prone body and reached his decaying hands out to rest on the shallowly breathing chest.

"_Silence the room, Barty_," the walking corpse commanded. "_We wouldn't want the Muggles to come snooping after hearing this filth's screams._"

This proved to be a well-thought precaution, for not long after those words, the entire decrepit room echoed with inhuman shrieks and the sound of wood pounding wood as the body writhed and thrashed spasmodically.

Nearly two hundred miles away, Heri Potter bolted straight up in bed, breath ragged, eye wide, her scar throbbing furiously. Distressed, octopus-like tendrils erupted from her, lashing out blindly, destroying whatever was in reach.

* * *

**A** good week and a half after the capture of Pettigrew (and three days after Sirius had been cleared of all charges), Sirius had managed to set up a place to live just in time to receive Heri as she came for the summer holidays. It was an old town-house that had seen better days, but it was clean enough where it mattered and really anything was more welcoming that staying with the Dursleys. What mattered to Heri was the fact that the room set up for her was obviously done up with care, actually being the cleanest place in the house on top of being the only room with all new furniture. It was a sweet gesture and she let Sirius know that she appreciated the accommodations already made and that she wasn't in the least bothered that they weren't living in a castle (as he seemed to have feared she might).

Not that they let it remain ill-kept, of course; a few hundred charm'd cleaning supplies working non-stop for over just half a week and it was clean enough to eat off the floors.

Living with Sirius had the potential to be uncomfortable if it hadn't been for a few helpful factors that eased their interactions. It should have gone without saying that Remus was a god-send.

They dragged Remus in right off the bat, sweet-talking him into staying with them at least for the summer. Remus had been living in muggle London before his time as a Hogwarts' professor, working modest jobs that were willing to let him have three days off in a row during the time of the full moon. He cited religious reasons for why he needed that specific time, but even with Muggles as a whole not believing in magical creatures any more, Muggles still looked at you funny if you mentioned needing time off during the full moon. Thinking about it, saying he was part of a religion that had rites during the full moon likely made Remus' potential employers think he was in a cult.

Even with Remus smoothing the path, living with Sirius was like staying with a formerly absentee father that had no idea their child existed before, but was eager to make up for the lost time (sort of like how she'd wished her godly parent would do). It was awkward at times, but she could tell that he really was trying his best. That was all she could ask of him, especially since he was still very young at heart. It was lucky that Heri wasn't one that needed a lot of looking after.

Sirius wasn't one for laying down the law, that was evident in the way he had told Heri that besides making sure she didn't kill herself she was free to do whatever she wanted.

"Provided that you tell me when you're off to visit your friends' places," Sirius had added.

He didn't even assign her any chores; Oona, their house elf, didn't allow Heri to do anything beyond picking up her own room. The house was cleaned, the plants were tended to, the meals were prepared, everything was kept in a working manner, and all without any work on Heri's part. It took some time to get adjusted.

That was not to say that she was idle without her usual tasks. Sirius was all for going out and doing things, likely a result of being in prison for so long. The three of them hopped around both Muggle and magical Britain, seeing shows at theatres and cinemas, eating out at nice restaurants, watching Quidditch games, visiting museums, the works. Heri could honestly say that she saw more of the world in those few months than she had her entire life before. Add on that she finally had the opportunity to hang out with her friends outside of school and it was like she had been transplanted into an entirely different life.

Of course, it wasn't all rainbows and butterflies. Sirius, for all his cluelessness, was well aware that he wasn't the best person to know how to take care of a young girl. He took it upon himself to bring in someone he believed to be extremely capable of child-rearing into the picture to act as 'the female influence that Heri needed.' Not that Heri _wanted _some woman she had never met before to play at being her mother or whatever. Thus entered Auntie Andromeda.

Now, Auntie Andromeda wasn't actually Heri's aunt. According to the genealogy tapestry the Black family kept in what was much like a trophy room, the older woman and Sirius were actually Heri's second cousins, Heri's grandmother being their great-aunt. In the case of Sirius, Heri had no qualms addressing him informally, but it somehow felt disrespectful to address the stately yet kind woman so familiarly. Since Andromeda was not only older than Heri's parents but had a daughter of her own that was older than Heri as well, 'Auntie' just felt natural.

As aforementioned, Auntie Andromeda was kind. She was even-tempered, soft-spoken, good-humoured, and had a gentle touch that put people at ease. Of course, many people described Heri that way as well, but there was no doubting that Heri wasn't one to mess about with. Such was the same with Andromeda Tonks.

Heri first met Auntie Andromeda after Sirius remembered that he had the power to disown and re-instate family members. He had gotten the most wickedly gleeful look on his face before he popped off to Gringotts'. He can came home that evening mumbling about "bitches getting what they deserve." The next day, mid-breakfast, Auntie Andromeda came almost running out of the fireplace, still in her nightgown. She had pounced on Sirius and pelted him with kisses and exclamations of thanks. That had been the first and only time since then that Heri ever saw Auntie Andromeda looking anything but perfectly composed.

Auntie Andromeda was of the opinion that Heri was in need of instruction in the ways of ladies. Heri wasn't sure how the older woman came to that conclusion; she didn't know anything about Heri's stint as a neighbourhood hooligan and she had only ever met with Heri's mannerly front. It might have had something to do with the way Sirius more or less let Heri run wild though. Catching the two of them on the third floor, determining the trajectory Heri would have to jump if she wanted to land in the tree in the back garden likely sealed the deal. Since then, every visit from Auntie Andromeda included manner lessons.

On that day in particular, Heri was being educated in proper conduct for tea parties. She blamed it all on Sirius.

Earlier that day, Heri had a fit of fancy and decided to make use of the abundance of dolls and stuffed animals Sirius had provided for her when decorating her room. She supposed that he hadn't really realised that Heri was a bit too grown for dollies and plushies, but they were the first toys since her babyhood that she had ever had and she loved them all the same. She hadn't done much with the beyond admiring them, but she was quite set on playing tea party with them that day.

Heri had dressed up a handful of her prettiest dolls and arranged them around a short table she had enlarged and transfigured from a miniature table she had gotten from the doll house Sirius had gotten for her. She had found an old tea set in the attic, and she thought they looked quite lovely spread out as they were on her little table. She had been chattering on to a china doll that she had seated in the guest of honour spot to her right when Sirius used his impeccable timing to walk in right then.

Suffice to say that Heri didn't let Sirius get away with laughing at her. Before he could call for reinforcements, Heri had him in an unnaturally turquoise doll dress that she enlarged to fit him and a magnificently ribboned bonnet she had also found in the attic. Despite his protests, Heri noticed that he got on well enough with Behemoth, Sirius' seat-neighbour and Heri's pink velveteen hippopotamus.

Auntie Andromeda caught them having a food fight with the snacks Oona had brought up for them. She had first thought that no one was home when no one had been in the drawing room when she arrived, but the sound of shouting and the clatter of crockery had drawn her attention. She took one look of them — Heri with sandwich in her hair, Sirius in a cake smeared tea gown — and told them in no uncertain terms that they would go clean up and meet her in the drawing room in an hour for a proper tea.

That had been an hour and a half ago, and even with the additions to their little party in the form of Remus and Auntie Andromeda's daughter, Cousin Dora, the current tea party and etiquette lesson was nowhere near as exciting as the food fight from earlier.

Bless her, for all the Auntie Andromeda was an intelligent, well-educated woman, she couldn't teach for tuppence. Not in a way that engaged her students at least. The only person Heri knew less exciting while they lectured was Professor Binns. She had gone into detail about the arrangement of a tea table — that went beyond "put this here, and that there, or else you'll be an uncivilised heathen" — and had just now — after thirty minutes — started in on how a body was supposed to interact with the dishes and cups.

"The saucer should be in the palm of the left hand before being moved forward to rest on the fingers. The fingers should be slightly spread apart to achieve a good balance. The saucer should then be steadied by the thumb resting on the rim." Auntie Andromeda held up her own teacup and saucers in example.

By this time, Remus and Cousin Dora had gone ahead with their sipping and nibbling. They had determined that it was Heri that Auntie Andromeda was focused on, so there was no reason for them to not fill their bellies already. Sirius was of this opinion as well, but he appeared to taking care to be as obscenely uncivilised as he could manage short of stripping naked and just rolling around in the finger-foods. He bared his teeth and lipped up fairy cakes like a horse with a carrot and held his tea in both hands like a squirrel with an acorn. This was possibly for Heri's benefit, to provide some amusement as could be given. This seemed to be its only possible purpose, as it didn't seem to be making a difference to Auntie Andromeda either way.

Auntie Andromeda delicately gripped her cup and made a show of taking a sip from it. "A handled cup is held with the index fingertip tucked slightly through the handle, the thumb just above it to support the grip, and the second finger below the handle for added security. The next two fingers should naturally follow the curve of the others. _Sirius._"

Those seated at the table stiffened at the sharp tone. Remus looked as if he were the one being addressed and Cousin Dora turned white literally all over. Sirius looked at his cousin with wide-eyes, his tongue still stuck out from how he had been lapping from his cup like a beast in direct contrast to how Andromeda was trying to teach Heri. He slowly lowered the cup to the table — tucking a comically raised pinkie back into his hand — and fidgeted in his seat like a naughty child that's been called to task.

Auntie Andromeda gave Sirius a stern, unamused look before returning her serious gaze to Heri. "It should go without saying that lifting one's little finger is to be avoided absolutely. A common misconception is that outstretching one's little finger aids in the balance of the cup when taking a sip of tea — this is certainly _not_ the case, and is not only pointless, but it is also pretentious beyond words."

Heri didn't have anything to say to that, so she only nodded gravely in response.

"Now. Tea should be served by the host or a friend — _not_ servants. One must not pour multiple cups at a time, nor should one pass out several cups at once, and guests should take their cup directly from the server. To do so would be to insult your guests. The careful, personal care taken for each cup of tea is a gesture of regard and goodwill between the server and the guest; because the server has direct influence over the tea — and thus the health of the guests — it is considered an honour to be asked to pour the tea . . ."

This was how Heri spent her summer when not gadding about with Sirius and Remus or visiting her friends. Auntie Andromeda was a harsh task-master when she worked herself into it, and there seemed to be no end to the things she believed that Heri needed to know before she could pass for approval. It really made no sense to Heri since it wasn't as if they had any obligation to rub elbows with the sort of folk that took such business seriously; they weren't exactly going to go meet up with the Queen anytime soon. Still, it was a good thing that Heri had taken up sewing as a stress-relieving hobby the year before because it was one of the many hobbies Auntie Andromeda encouraged Heri to develop.

"A young lady needs a quiet, respectable hobby," Auntie Andromeda had said after she pressed a pile of soft cloths on Heri and suggested she make herself a new cloth doll. (Did she think Heri was six?) She seemed to be ignoring the fact that her own daughter was more likely to join a burping contest than a knitting circle; Cousin Dora was an unrepentant tomboy who was almost as 'respectable' as Sirius. Auntie Andromeda had only relented when Heri showed the older woman the handkerchief she had edged.

Considering that the other choices included flower-pressing and writing poetry, Heri congratulated herself on dodging a bullet. As it was, her mannerly front was being forced to become so high-society, and she was starting to fret that she would develop a split-personality.

"I'd say I'm sorry you have to deal with all this," Cousin Dora had said during a break in yet another one of Auntie Andromeda's lessons. On that occasion, Heri was learning to walk while balancing books on her head. Auntie Andromeda had popped out to talk with Sirius about something. "But I won't, because that would be lying. She had a hell of a time with me, especially when it became clear that my clumsiness was something I'd never be out-growing. It's nice to see her have so much fun teaching you."

Heri had glowered a bit in response.

"While I can appreciate her effort, I really don't care much for being 'ladylike.' I've never put so much effort in being girly before in my life."

Cousin Dora snorted and leaned back in her armchair.

"You having me on? I've seen you with a couple of your other bobble-heads giggling on like pixies. As if you don't go to the top school in the nation. If you got any fluffier, you'd be a cloud!"

Heri gave the older girl a look.

"People don't like it when you're too serious. They also don't like it when you notice things they'd rather you didn't. It's only polite that I make sure I never give them the impression that I've caught on more than they thought; it would be rude of me to do things I know people don't like. _You _can call it being an airhead, but _I _call it being courteous."

"Here now, I'm just saying I don't understand why you act so vapid when everyone already knows you've got some brains in that fluffy little head of yours. A good half of the Auror Corps have family at Hogwarts, and you can bet your arse their midgets carry on about Heri Potter this, and Heri Potter that, and how you're one of the brightest students in your year. It's more or less common knowledge!"

That was when Auntie Andromeda returned with more books for the stack. With a look she beckoned Heri back over.

As Heri got back to her feet, she told Cousin Dora, "I don't doubt that people know I'm not an idiot, but I hope you realise that there's quite a bit of a difference between being smart and being observant."

* * *

**B**ack before Heri was born, before Lily was too heavily pregnant to attend Order of the Phoenix meetings, Lily used to chat with Alice Longbottom (her dear friend) about what things would be like when their babies were born. They would talk about genders, and names, and what their children would be like together. They discussed possible personality quirks and how they hoped the children would be friends. They pointedly did _not _talk about the inevitable troubles of raising children in times of war.

A topic the two women often returned to was keeping the children entertained. In other words: toys. In theory, it would be easy to conjure some bubbles and sparkles every now and then to keep the babies from being bored, but in reality, they had heard enough about Fabian and Gideon Prewett's nephews to know that there were no real substitutes for actual toys. Of course, the trouble with this was that they couldn't pop out to a toy store while being in hiding as they were. They could technically transfigure whatever was lying around the house into a soft toy if they really wanted to, but it struck them as stingy to just pluck up whatever they could get their hands on instead of getting the real deal.

It was at this time that Sirius made himself invaluable. Having often heard Lily and Alice fret about not having toys for their children, he began going out to the Alleys in disguise to pick up some. He figured it was the least he could do since he would be the godfather to Lily's child. H e would buy only a couple of them at a time before meetings that he knew both women would attend, as it would have been suspicious for any one person to buy toys in bulk, especially during those tense times. He kept this up right up until the Longbottoms and Potters went under Fidelius, and even afterwards he would pick up a toy during his patrols of the Alleys if one caught his eyes.

It was during a patrol of Casu Alley in late September of 1981 that Sirius' eye was not only caught, but captured. In the window of an Enchanter's workshop, there was china doll that looked remarkably similar to how he imagined Heri would look in the future. It was dressed in a lacy cream-coloured dress and bonnet outfit, had wavy mahogany hair, and had eyes just a few shades off from the green Lily and Heri shared. It stood at approximately a foot in height and the description underneath it boasted that it was fully articulated, that the china was unbreakable, and that the colour would never fade.

With one look, Sirius knew that he couldn't possibly leave without buying the doll. It would be like spotting the Snitch and not chasing after it! He hadn't spent any time with Heri since before she could sit up, and arriving with several holidays worth of presents was only scratching the surface of how he would make up for it. He would have to hold onto it until he could visit the Potters for Christmas, but there wasn't a doubt in his mind that the doll was meant for Heri.

Sirius left the doll in his Gringotts vault like he had with the rest of the toys he intended to give to his god-daughter and returned to the Order's Headquarters with a smile on his lips.

In the end, that Christmas never came.

When Sirius' hellish stint in Azkaban finally came to an end and he somehow found himself free again with an orphaned no-longer-infant god-daughter soon to be living with him, toys were the last thing on his mind. He had less than a month — hell, less than a fortnight — to scrounge up a place that he could take care of his kid in. Loathe that he was to return to the place, his childhood home really was the only place that could be fixed up to be ready in time for the end of the school year. In his rush to make the place liveable, he decided to bring out furniture from the storage vault; it was then that he rediscovered all the toys he had bought for Heri.

In a handful of dusty crates sitting on an equally dusty end table were a lot more toys than he remembered buying. In fact, Sirius couldn't recall buying a good two-third of them all. One crate dedicated to stuffed animals, one for puzzles and colouring books, and others filled with dolls of all shapes and sizes. Laying on top of the rest was the last china doll he had ever bought, still as vividly painted as on the day he had bought it, just as the shop had advertised. Looking them all over, he decided that it was high time Heri received the gifts he had meant to give her.

Sirius would openly admit that he spent the majority of his effort on Heri's room. Not only was he excited to finally spend time with his kid, he figured that a well done up bedroom was the least he could do to make up for screwing up so royally that he ended up in jail for over a decade and leaving her with Lily's bitch of a sister. With every detail he put into decorating the second-floor room overlooking the back garden, he hoped to convey how much she meant to him.

On the day Sirius went to pick up Heri from King's Cross station, he brought along the china doll that looked so much like her.

He had held it out to her as soon as he set her back down from an enthusiastic hug.

"Here's a — um— a homecoming gift for you. Is that what it's called? Maybe it's a . . . a 'welcome home' gift, or a 'thank you for coming' gift," he rambled in a stumbling tone. He laughed a little nervously when he saw her cover a smile with her fingers like his girl cousins used to do when they laughed at stupid boys. "Well, whatever it is, it's for you."

Heri had taken the doll with a wondering look on her face.

"She's beautiful," she said. She looked up with a bright smile and hug the doll to herself. "Thank you very much. I've never had a china doll before. I think I'll call her — hmm . . ." She tapped her bottom lip in thought. A bright smile then lit her face. "I'll name her Iolanthe."

"Erm, why Iolanthe?" asked Sirius as he ushered her toward the Floo. "Not that there's anything wrong with Iolanthe, of course! I just mean, it's oddly specific, y'know?"

"You're right." Heri nodded amicably as she ambled beside him, examining her new doll more thoroughly. "It's just — well, I used to do I lot of thinking on my namesake, you know? Being named after a god of heroes sets a lofty standard. I remember reading that Hercules used to run about with a bloke named Iolaus, so I figured that since Hercules had an Iolaus, it would make sense that I have an Iolanthe."

Much to Sirius' delight, Heri seemed genuinely attached to Iolanthe. He had originally been concerned that not only would she not like the doll, but she would try to spare his feelings by faking excitement as well. These worries turned out to be for nothing, as she took to carrying the doll everywhere; he often caught sight of her idly fiddling with its clothes or with the articulation of its joints. He also noticed that the doll began to grow more in looks like Heri every time he saw it. This warmed Sirius' heart, as he knew that the things that you personalised were the things that meant the most to you.

On the day that he walked in on Heri in the middle of — of all things — a tea party with her toys, he noticed that Iolanthe was once again right by her side. And not only had it finally been completely transfigured into the exact replication of Heri's feature, it was also wearing an identical outfit. The picture they made together was just so cute that he had been too distracted to make his escape of Heri's grasps. He would later claim that he had been too busy laughing, but truth be told, he hadn't been in much of a hurry to escape the chance to finally play with his kid.

* * *

**H**eri didn't know what it was, but lately, she was absorbed in . . . crafting? Was that the word for it? It sounded so primary-school, but she wasn't sure what else it could be called. That thing where you make stuff from out of other stuff and some imagination that doesn't necessarily require magic to make it work, but magic still helped. Whatever _that_ was called, it was currently retaining the majority of her attention.

In a response to Auntie Andromeda's eternal harping on about comportment and respectable past-times, Heri found herself always tinkering away at _something _when the older woman was around_, _if only to distract herself from the inevitably lengthy lectures. Auntie Andromeda could be _so boring; _Heri had taken to keeping herself occupied with whatever she could get her hands on, 'appropriate' needlework or not. Instead of the weapon practice and monster slaying she usually did during her summers, she was sewing away at at the drapes, napkins, and table-clothes, poking at the artefacts lying around, and drawing on any flat surface that Sirius didn't stop her from marking all over.

Quite honestly, she had never had the chance to just mess about with odds and ends before, not with the Dursleys being the way they were. It wasn't until she had gotten away from their direct area of influence that she discovered the slew of things that interested her: Flying; Divination; Ghoul Studies; runes; magical creatures. It was odd to realised that she had lived most of her life without any real interest in anything; it made her wonder if that had made her personality shallow. Or maybe 'shallow' wasn't the right word. Vague? Faint? Whatever the proper word was, she certainly wasn't a well-adjusted human being. She _still _wasn't exactly a well-adjusted human being, but at least she could acknowledge the fact. (She also accepted that she would never be so, no matter how well-adjusted she might become in the future, because demigods weren't human, much like in the way that hippogriffs were neither griffin nor horse.) In any case, it was great fun finding out that she found tinkering with things great fun.

Beyond the frippery that kept her fussy older cousin from nagging, it was fascinating to discover how the knick-knacks in the house actually worked, and it was endlessly amusing to watch how the furniture reacted to the different rune sequences she drew on them. There wasn't a thing in her room that hadn't been all but transmuted during her experimentations, so much that a good half didn't even resemble their original forms any longer.

On that particular day, Heri was messing about with Iolanthe. It was the last fortnight of summer before school started again, and she was spending a rare day by herself. All the shopping had already been taken care of and there was nothing scheduled. She was taking advantage of the lazy day to act upon an idea she had been tossing around in her mind for a while now.

With a small calligraphy pen, Heri very carefully traced over the chalked bind-rune she had drawn on the space between Iolanthe's shoulders. She was using an ink she had made specifically for the task at hand. The recipe for the ink had been in one of the less-dangerous books in the house: it called for grounded black walnut, the shavings from a Kaffir lime, and soot from the burned remains of freshly killed doxies. She kept her hand steady, taking care to never pull her pen away. Slowly, a symbol made from combining Ansuz and Berkana stood out in stark contrast of the whiteness of the doll's back.

The wet ink glistened as Heri finally pulled her pen back to admire the rune. Holding Iolanthe carefully to keep the shape from running, Heri leaned in, drew in a slow breath, and breathed out a wisp of flame that dried the ink immediately. Being a fire created by magic, it also acted as an activation trigger.

Iolanthe twitched in Heri's hands. Her feet kicked out and her torso jerked like a person that had been prodded in the side.

Holding her breath, Heri placed the doll on the table in front of her and observed avidly.

Iolanthe had been placed on the table on her side, but her little hands soon pushed her up into a propped up position. Her little legs then bent at the knees briefly before she pulled herself up to stand wobbly on her feet. There was the most befuddled look on the doll's face as she inspected her suddenly autonomous limbs while also wrapping her mind around the fact that she now had a mind. After a moment of complete fascination with her hands, Iolanthe looked up at Heri adoringly.

Heri breathed out gustily and grinned. She extended her forefinger for Iolanthe to grip, which the doll did happily, much like how babies did.

"Do you understand me?" Heri asked, stroking Iolanthe's hair with her other hand.

Iolanthe smiled dopily and nodded.

"Mmm . . ." Heri's fingers traced down to Iolanthe's neck. "Can't talk?"

The dopey expression fell a bit and the doll cast her eyes down abashedly.

"Ah, it's alright," said Heri, waving off the concern. "That's just something we'll have to look into for later. As it is, I think the animation rune was a complete success."

It amused Heri that she had apparently succeeded at breathing life into a creation.

* * *

**S**irius had somehow rustled up Top Box tickets for the Quidditch World Cup. The tickets cost a glossy Galleon considering the Top Box was where the Minister and foreign dignitaries sat, but Heri figured it had something to do with the recompense the Ministry owed Sirius for a decade of illegal incarceration. In any case, Sirius had come home with a cat-that-got-the-canary grin with the tickets waving in his hand like a fan.

In his generous mood, Sirius told Heri that she could invite along a couple of friends as well.

Heri would've invited Hannah, but the other girl already had plans with her extended family. She had considered inviting along Wayne since he had bemoaned on the train that his mother thought going would be a waste of money, but then she remembered that Ernie had invited Wayne to come along with him and Zacharias, so she figured that Megan would enjoy prime seats as opposed to somewhere else in the crowd. The game was less than a week off when Sirius got the tickets, so Heri had been worried that Megan's family had already bought their own tickets, but she worried for nothing; Megan's mother all but shoved Megan through the Floo when she heard that Heri was inviting her daughter to the Top Box. After Sally-Anne's grateful but nonchalant acceptance, the enthusiasm was amusing.

The day before the World Cup, Sally-Anne and Megan arrived by Floo before the five of them caught a portkey to the camping grounds. Hundreds upon hundreds of tents were pitched across the misty moor that the Department of Magical Games and Sports had booked for use. With the sheer quantity of wizards, most of them dressed like they had just been introduced to clothing, it was amazing the Muggle owner of the camp-grounds (Mr. Roberts) hadn't thrown off the Memory Charms he had been subjected to. Heri was glad their camp-site was a good distance away from Mr. Roberts, as she wouldn't be able to hide her embarrassment if she witnessed another wizard in a lady's satin nightgown and a sombrero trying to make nice with the Muggle.

The stadium built just for the World Cup was magnificent. The stairs were carpeted in rich purple and the seats were cushioned from seat to back-rest. As they clambered upward with the rest of the crowd, Heri couldn't help but wonder at the quality of lifestyle innate to wizards simply because of what they could do with magic.

Their party kept climbing until they finally reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Heri looked down upon a scene the likes of which she could never have imagined.

A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats, which rose in levels around the long oval field. Everything was suffused with a dreamy golden light, which seemed to come from the stadium itself. The field looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the field stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling upon the blackboard and then wiping it off again; watching it, Heri saw that it was flashing advertisements across the field:

_The Bluebottle: A Broom for All the Family — safe, reliable, and with Built-in Anti-Burglar Buzzer . . . Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover: No Pain, No Stain! . . . Gladrags Wizardwear — London, Paris, Hogsmeade . . . _

"Amazing!" Megan breathed, and though Sally-Anne tried to play it cool, she too was impressed. The two of them were fixated at the sight of crowd rising around the Box.

"I don't think I've ever had such a view before," Remus remarked, also marvelling at the opulent accommodations.

Surprisingly, the Weasleys were there as well, minus Mrs. Weasley. It seemed that Mr. Weasley was higher up in the governmental hierarchy that Heri had initially thought, because she could see him shaking hands with people who were obviously very important people. The introduction and merging of the two groups went off without a hitch, with Sirius, Remus, Megan, and Sally-Anne being introduced to the Weasley brood, and Bill and Charlie Weasley being introduced to Heri.

Their enthusiastic greetings drew the attention of the Minister of Magic himself. Cornelius Fudge, for all his faults, was a consummate politician. Apparently, _he _was the reason they got Top Box tickets; they were there as his guests to smooth over the unjust imprisonment business as well as to have a national treasure (Heri) available to show off. Ignoring how he had declared that Sirius was to be Kissed on sight back when he was a fugitive, the portly man made short work of greeting Sirius and Heri like old friends and introducing them to the wizards on either side of him.

Sirius was about as politic as a soapy sponge to the face, and so escaped the situation with all the slickness of a greased boar. He left Heri as a scapegoat, of course. Lucky for him, Heri wouldn't have escaped with him even if she had the chance since she would have considered doing so to be very rude. Either way, Heri was left behind to play diplomat while Sirius decided to relive his childhood.

"Heri Potter, you know," Fudge said loudly to the Bulgarian Minister, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn't seem to understand a word of English. "_Heri Potter_ . . . oh, come on now, you know who she is . . . the girl who defeated You-Know-Who . . . you _do_ know who she is —"

A breeze hit the stands and the Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted Heri's scar as her fringe was blown off her forehead. He started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it.

"Knew we'd get there in the end," said Fudge wearily to Heri as she giggled and smoothed her hair back down. "I'm no great shakes at languages; I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. The man knows more languages than I know Ministry Departments . . . ah, and here's Lucius!"

Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley were none other than Dobby's former owners: Lucius Malfoy (Heri had a brief encounter with him before wherein he had accidentally given Dobby the boot); his son, Draco; and a woman Heri supposed must be Draco's mother. It seemed that blond hair ran in the family, even extending to Mrs. Malfoy with her blond streaked brown hair. She was tall and slim, and would've been very nice-looking if she hadn't been wearing an expression that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose.

"Ah, Minister," said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached them. "How are you? I don't think you've met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?"

"How do you do, how do you do?" said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy. "And allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oblansk — Obalonsk — Mr. — well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can't understand a word I'm saying anyway, so never mind. And let's see who else — you know Arthur Weasley, I dare say?" He smiled kindly at Mr. Weasley. "Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo's Hospital, Arthur. He's here as my guest."

It was a tense moment. Fudge was apparently as oblivious as a diricawl in the middle of a rainstorm, judging by the way he completely missed how the two men looked primed to claw each other's eyes out.

"And this is Heri Potter!" Fudge continued brightly, putting a hand on her shoulder blade as if to lead her forward like a show dog. "I noticed that you are already acquainted with her, Arthur, but I don't think _you_ have been introduced, Lucius. Miss Potter is here today as another of my guests. Her godfather mentioned to me that they were planning on coming out to the World Cup, so I thought she might enjoy the best seating available. What do you say, my dear?"

Heri gave him Smile No. 17, the dewy-eyed, ditsy one for older people that saw her as a cute little girl. She had crafted it especially for Auntie Andromeda. She paired the look with a soft lisp to re-enforce the image.

"I've been having the loveliest time so far, sir. I can't imagine what it'll be like when the game starts!"

This was one occasion that Heri's diminutive height came in handy; it just made her appear even less threatening. Fudge smiled indulgently in response, completely missing the wary look the Malfoy boy gave her.

The three men were eventually caught up in other business, leaving Heri free to do as she wanted. She took the opportunity to speak with the Malfoy woman.

"You must be Draco's mother," Heri said with a small smile, No. 4; it was much more genuine than No. 17 but meant to be just as endearing. She tucked one foot behind the other and bobbed at the knees while spreading her skirt slightly, giving a small curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I'm Heri Potter."

Malfoy the younger looked like he wanted to say some choice words to her for addressing him by his first name. Instead, he swallowed them down. They both knew that in a situation with several people sharing the same family name, the youngest was to be called by his first name to reduce confusion.

Mrs. Malfoy raised a brow, looking knowingly between her son and Heri. She inclined her head in acknowledgement while her dung-sniffing expression softened just the tiniest bit.

"Likewise, I'm sure. Narcissa Malfoy. You have prettier manners than I was expecting."

Heri assumed Position No. 3, her hands behind her back, hips cocked just so, with a small grin as she glanced at the ground just once before peering up through her eyelashes. It was meant to make her appear bashful but unintimidated while playing up her cuteness (as most of her practised mannerisms were supposed to).

"It's true that I've had to practice them," she said, easing back a notch on the lisp, "but I like to think that I've always known how to behave myself. In any case, I'm glad to know that you approve, ma'am."

A faint smile curved Mrs. Malfoy's lips, the knowing look growing.

"Indeed, Miss Potter. I'm rather impressed. I must admit, I was not expecting such a genial greeting; it's known to me that Draco and yourself tend to disagree on matters."

Mrs. Malfoy certainly had a gift for understatement. That was an exceedingly polite way of phrasing the racial slurs, death threats, and physical violence exchanged between the two of them.

Heri's smile grew wider as she straightened. Her eyes curved into cheery crescents.

"Draco and I may have our differences, but I'd rather let a person make their own impressions, ma'am. Besides, it wouldn't do to ostracise a relative before even talking to them, would it?"

A moue of incomprehension was Heri's answer.

"I don't follow what you mean," said Mrs. Malfoy.

Beside her, her pointy-nosed offspring looked even more confused.

"My godfather has recently acknowledged me as Heir Apparent of the House of Black." The widening of Mrs. Malfoy's eyes said enough. Heri continued on blithely. "As the future Marchioness of Souscolline, I have been studying the lines of descent of past Heads of House. I've discovered that I have quite a few second cousins, you being one of them, ma'am. I thought that it would be a waste of an opportunity if I didn't get to know you."

The look on little Malfoy's face was one worthy of a Patronus. When his mother reacted agreeably to the discovery of familial relation to Heri after only a few bewildered blinks, Heri thought he would drop dead from an apoplectic fit on the spot.

* * *

**T**he riot that happened during the World Cup celebration was an event that Heri ended reading about in the papers the next day. Her friends and she had been awoken by a frantic Remus when the exaltations of cheer became cries of fright, and were sent back to Grimmauld Place via the emergency portkey that Sirius had made for Heri just in case. The three girls were whisked away before the danger got within half a mile of them.

_The Daily Prophet_ had quotes from officials saying that the fuss was just some drunks losing their minds, but Heri was more inclined to believe the infinitely more straightforward Sirius. Her godfather had come home in the early morning with a wild glint in his eyes, going on about "wretched Death Eater bastards" and several choice words about those he suspected to be guilty. Cousin Narcissa's shifty husband was at the top of Sirius' list.

* * *

"**Y**ou've changed your uniform! Oh, Heri, you'll get into so much trouble!"

It was September 1st again, and the Hogwarts Express was about twenty minutes away from Hogsmeade Station. Heri had spent the majority of the ride catching up with her more casual school-friends — and crying into Lucian's and Graham's shoulders that Marcus had graduated — before finding her way back to the compartment her crowd had more or less laid claim to. It had been a laid-back journey so far, but a trip on the Express just wouldn't be complete without someone exclaiming over something she did that they found shocking.

Heri paused in her conversation with Ernie about possible recruits for the Quidditch team and looked up from the scarf she was crocheting to see Hermione Granger gaping at her from the doorway of the compartment. The rest of Heri's usual crowd looked up as well, their conversations tapering off at the horrified exclamation, all looking bothered in one way or another.

"What's it to you, Granger?" Zacharias sneered, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. He had never made it a secret that he had no affection for the Gryffindor girl. (Then again, he had little affection for anyone.) "If she wanted to walk around in a pair of trousers and a rain smock, it would still be none of your business."

"Oh, let's not start," Heri said, addressing both self-righteous loons. "Yes, Hermione, I'm not in the standard kit. I doubt I'll be getting into any trouble though, so you don't have to worry yourself over it."

"No trouble?" said Hermione. "I don't know how strict Professor Sprout is, but Professor McGonagall takes the rules _very_ seriously; if she sees you out of uniform, she'll be on you faster than blinking!"

Heri sighed a bit through her nose and put her work down on her lap.

"Really now, no need to fuss. I've checked the rule book from cover to cover, and there's absolutely nothing against adding a few touches to the uniform. In fact, from what I've read, what's currently accepted as the standard kit isn't even the actual official set anyway."

Hermione looked horribly ruffled.

"Isn't it? That can't be right!"

She seemed to be on the verge of whipping out her own copy of the rule book to verify it.

"If it isn't the official uniform," Ernie chimed in, a puzzled look on his face, "then why's it on the official supply list?"

"Is it?" asked Heri, a smile curving her lips. "From what I remember of the list from first year, it said something about work robes, a pointed hat, a cloak, and . . . gloves, I think."

Megan leaned forward eagerly to agree.

"That's right! I remember the seamstress I went to had to get the uniform separately from what was on the list!"

"But if that's true, what are we supposed to be wearing?" Hannah asked, looking confused.

"From what I could figure," said Heri, "the school administration has changes up the uniform every once in a while to keep up with the current fashion and economic standard of the nation. Rather considerate of them, I suppose. In any case, the only thing I found that was acknowledged as the _official _Hogwarts uniform is the original kit they used back when the school was first built: a black cassock — you know, like those robes Professor Snape wears — with a knee-length tabard in our House colours over it. It reminds me a lot of the outfit that the Catholics have their altar boys wear, to be honest."

"Are you serious?" asked Sally-Anne, aghast at the fashion disaster. "That's right out of the Middle Ages!"

"Well, it's not like it's hideous or anything, just astonishingly out-of-date." Heri shrugged. "So, since we're all technically in blatant violation of uniform anyway, a few alterations are hardly a big deal, now are they?"

Hermione looked as if she was only just holding herself back from scolding Heri for circumventing 'The Rules.'

Sally-Anne huffed in amusement.

"Alright then, Miss Clever, have it your way. What have you done to your kit anyway?"

Heri grinned and stood up to give them a better view.

"I'm actually really proud of it, you know? I went through some clothes we had in storage and altered some of the old Hogwarts' uniforms I found. This one's actually a pinafore dress, though you can't really tell with the cardigan I've got on. I think it's from the fifties, and skirt is sewn up differently from what's standard right now. Much easier to walk in."

Sally-Anne, resident fashion expert that she was, inspected the outfit carefully. She made a sound of interest.

"I like it. It's subtle, so I didn't notice it before, but it's not dowdy like the A-Line midi skirts everyone's wearing. It's a lot fuller too."

"I attached petticoats." Heri did a pretty twirl, revealing the edge of her lacy underskirts. "It didn't feel right without the extra volume. I attached petticoats to all of my skirts."

Sally-Anne nodded.

"It's a bit longer too; I'm surprised it doesn't make your legs look stumpy with the flats we wear. Guess you just have long legs."

Heri shrugged, whirling again idly, admiring the ruffle of her skirts.

"The older girls seem to like their skirts shorter right now, but I like the length of this one. The movement of the fabric is lot more elegant when you can walk without having to worry about flashing your knickers, you know?"

Heri didn't mention that she had sewn runes into the hem to prevent the skirt from flying up pass twirling height. She also didn't mention the sequences to prevent burning and tearing that she had stitched into the inside seams. She certainly didn't mention that the sleeves of her blouse would grow to the length of ropes and could be used as weapons if she needed them to. Nope. That was between her and Iolanthe, and Iolanthe wasn't in any condition to be telling anyone anything just yet.

"Can we not talk about knickers?" asked Zacharias, an uncomfortable, grumpy expression on his face. "I'd rather not hear about girls' undergarments."

"_I_ would," Ernie cut in, a wicked grin on his face, leaning in with mock-eagerness. "By all means, please continue."

Hannah scoffed and swatted the Ernie on the arm.

"Down, boy, we're talking _clothes_ here."

"Worrying about clothes when you could be focusing on something actually important," Hermione grumbled, crossing her arms and looking mightily unimpressed.

"Why are you even here?" Megan asked tetchily, a catty expression on her face.

Megan had disliked Hermione as much as Zacharias did since the time last year that the Gryffindor girl had arrived at the Hufflepuff table for the Runes project. Hermione had sat in Megan's usual spot next to Heri, took up two extra places by putting her satchel and books beside her on the bench, and then refused to make room for the rest of the crowd (the ones that didn't take Ancient Runes) when they trickled in for lunch; something about needing her books within easy reach. Megan had been snapped at for getting too close to Hermione's books when she sat down, and she had taken it as a personal affront. Zacharias made worse with one of his usual provoking statements, on that occasion about Megan being replaced by "an even-more-annoying-but-at-least-_useful _loud-mouth." Megan had viewed Hermione as a persistent would-be usurper ever since.

Despite her calmer state-of-being since returning her Time-Turner, Hermione didn't have any more respect for Megan than the other girl did for her. It had something to do with her being of the opinion that Megan was much like Lavender Brown, even without the flirty attitude. She seemed to be of the opinion that the majority of Heri's friends were useless and were only holding her down. (Though from _what_ she had never said.)

Hermione maintained her crossed arms and gave Megan a derisive look, caring nothing for her attitude.

"Neville's lost Trevor again. I've come to ask for help since we don't know anyone else that can do the Summoning Charm already."

"You couldn't have asked a prefect or an older student?" asked Wayne, finally deciding to join the conversation. It wasn't like him to say something without being directly addressed first, but it seemed that even he didn't care for Hermione's presence.

Hermione frowned harder.

"Neville and I don't know any older students, and the prefects currently on duty are Slytherins." She sent a pointed look at Heri. "They might not all be like Malfoy and his thugs, but they aren't exactly known for no-strings-attached favours either."

Heri shrugged and put her unfinished scarf — with an inscription to filter the air of hazardous substances worked into the decorative pattern — into her bag.

"It's no problem."

It turned out that it was a very good thing that Hermione had come to find Heri when she did, since it was discovered that Trevor had somehow opened a window a sliver and was in the process of squirming his way out when Heri summon'd him. Heri considered suggesting to Neville that he put some sort of tethering spell on his toad if he insisted on letting it remain outside of its tank, but she sympathised too much with Trevor to encourage his captivity.

* * *

_**D**__ear Sirius,_

_I've had a far from relaxing dinner tonight; care to guess why? Never mind, I'll just tell you: The headmaster made an announcement before the meal that had very mixed reactions. On one hand, there's going an international tournament with a fabulous cash-prize; on the other, they've cancelled Quidditch for the whole school-year._

_They've cancelled Quidditch, Sirius. Forget the Triwizard Tournament that hasn't been held in over 200 years; they've cancelled Quidditch for an event that only one Hogwarts student will be participating in, and will take up only three days in total. In what reality does that make sense? Cedric, Hufflepuff's team captain, looked like he didn't know whether he wanted to cheer or cry._

_I suppose this is why you and Remus have been all smirks and insinuations for the last few days. If you wanted me to be surprised, consider me duly shocked. _

_Will you be coming out to watch? I've heard that the Tournament is famous for dangerous creatures and extravagant shows of magic; that sounds right up your alley. _

_Love,_

_Heri_

* * *

**B**arty Crouch Jr. knew that he wasn't a good man. He had known it from the day he had taken the Dark Lord's mark and participated in the torment of his master's foe. He felt no regret about it. Any feeling outside of the desire to see his master rise again and revel in dark magic had been wrung out of him during his incarceration in Azkaban and his following imprisonment under the Imperious Curse by his father. When his master instructed him to infiltrate Hogwarts by capturing Mad-Eye Moody and impersonating the paranoid ex-Auror, Barty felt nothing but excitement for doing his master's will.

Well, maybe not _just_ excitement. There was a good deal of hatred within him at any given time; for his father; for those that opposed the Dark Lord; for those that denied their pledge to the Dark Lord and walked free; and of course, for the Potter girl. He was eager to carry out his master's will, as not only would it bring the Dark Lord to power, it would give him the chance to begin extracting revenge from those he saw fit.

Barty had made a fittingly disruptive entrance right in the middle of Dumbledore's beginning-of-term speech. He thought it was appropriate that he showed up during the announcement of the tournament that he would be rigging while wearing the face of a trusted comrade. The welcoming applause from the staff made it all the more delicious. He could feel the eyes of those twitchy little whelps on him as he staggered his way to the Head Table; it was amusing that they were so wary of him when they had no idea of his true identity.

When the Girl-Who-Lived pointed out to him, he had been appropriately shocked. The girl was the shortest of her year, even shorter than some of the lower-years, and was decidedly baby-faced. She was a Hufflepuff, and the sweetest tempered one if the other professors were to be believed. She was so modest, they said, she was generous and was a hard-worker that tutored other students in her free time. She was a good student and they hadn't had a lick of trouble from her since she had arrived, being among the most cooperative students they knew of.

The praise of her was enough to make him sick.

On the day that the fourth-years had Defence Against the Dark Arts, Potter had arrived with a crowd of other Hufflepuffs surrounding her. It might have been his over-wrought mind playing tricks on him, but she seemed to exude an air of benevolence, as if she was the personification of Light. Fitting really, since to him she stood for everything he wanted to destroy.

Tucked at her elbow was a doll that was identical to her in looks and dress. It was approximately a foot in height and made out of china. On top of looking exactly like her, it wore a wide-eyed, soft expression on its face that lent extra sweet-n-fluffiness to the girl's winsome atmosphere. It's existence was also completely incongruent with the image of Heri Potter he'd had in his head.

He admitted that he'd had a very fixed idea of what the Potter girl would be like. She'd be tall and mature for her age, fitting for one that achieved the unachievable at such a tender age. She would be an arrogant Gryffindor that revelled in the adoration of the Light sheep that praised her for bringing the Dark Lord low. She would Dumbledore's little pet that he'd be grooming to eventually take his place as the principle opposition of all things Dark, and she'd be a little brat that had never had to work for anything in life, all the training and information she'd ever need handed to her on a silver platter.

It was difficult realigning himself after the paradigm shift.

"You can put those away," Barty growled, when the students filled their seats. He stumped over to his desk and sat down."Those books. You won't need them."

They returned the books to their bags, the children buzzed excitedly, obviously eager for a practical lesson. Barty took out a register and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while the magical eye he had nicked from Moody swivelled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

"Right then," he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, "I've had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures — you've covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?"

There was a general murmur of assent.

"But you're behind — very behind — on dealing with curses," he said. "So I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark."

He gave a harsh laugh, and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

"So — straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you're in the sixth year. You're not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore's got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you're up against, the better.

"How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Miss Brown, when I'm talking."

The Brown girl jumped in her seat and flushed at being caught. She obediently put away the sheet of parchment she had been showing to the girl next to her and Barty watched her steadily.

"So . . . do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by law?"

Several hands rose tentatively into the air.

Barty's demonstration of the Imperius Curse on a spider had them laughing until he threatened to use it on them. That shut them up proper, all horrified at the thought of being controlled in such a way. They seemed hesitant to volunteer another answer after that, but two Gryffindors, a boy and a girl, raised their hands despite their reluctance. He was sure they regretted it when he cast the Cruciatus on the second spider.

The spider's legs bent into its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. The brats didn't like it at all, not even the Death Eater whelps that sat in the back and thought they were seasoned Dark wizards. The spider started to shudder and jerk more violently —

"Stop it!" shrieked the Gryffindor girl that volunteered before. She was looking not at the spider, but at the one that had suggested the Cruciatus, the Longbottom lad. The boy's hands were clenched upon the desk in front of him, his knuckles white, his eyes wide and horrified.

Barty released the spell to all the students' visible relief. Wet-behind-the-ears runts, the lot of them. He shrunk the spider back to its original size and put it back in the jar.

"Pain," he said eventually. "You don't need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse. That one was very popular once too. Anyone know any others?"

Despite her shaking, that audacious girl raised her hand again.

"Yes, Granger?"

"_Avada Kedavra_," she whispered.

Several people looked uneasily around at her. The circle that the Potter girl had surrounding her actually glared at Granger, appearing to try to close ranks while remaining in their seats. If the Potter girl appreciated the sentiment or even cared about what Granger had said, she gave no sign of it; instead, she stared calmly at the notes she was taking and idly stroked her doll's hair.

"Ah," said Barty, a slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. "Yes, the last and arguably the worst. _Avada Kedavra_ . . . the Killing Curse."

He retrieved the last spider and placed it upon the desktop. It started to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" he roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air — instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead. Several of the students failed to stifle their cries.

"Not nice," he said calmly. "Not pleasant. And there's no countercurse. There's no blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it, and she's sitting right in front of me."

The Potter girl's cheeks reddened as all eyes fell on her. She hugged her doll tighter but said nothing in acknowledgement.

"_Avada Kedavra_'s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it," Barty eventually said, drawing attention back to himself. "You lot could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I'd get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn't matter. I'm not here to teach you how to do it.

"Now, if there's no countercurse, why am I showing you? Because you've got to know. You've got to appreciate what the worst is. You don't want to find yourself in a situation where you're facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

"Those three curses — _Avada Kedavra_, Imperius, and Cruciatus — are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That's what you're up against. That's what I've got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills . . . copy this down . . ."

They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No one spoke until the bell rang — but when Barty finally dismissed them, a torrent of talk burst forth.

As the crowd of chattering students swept out of the classroom, Barty noted that Potter drew the Longbottom boy into the midst of the herd of Hufflepuffs, pulling him along to walk arm-in-arm with her.

"Come on, Neville," he could see her lips forming the words. "Let's get you a nice cup of tea."

With an imperceptible glance and an unwavering disapproving frown in Barty's direction, Potter ushered the still distressed boy out of the room.

For reasons beyond Barty's comprehension, his stomach churned in the same way it did when the Dark Lord expressed his displeasure with him.

* * *

**H**eri looked up from the book she was reading at the sound of confusion from the person next to her.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" Sally-Anne mumbled, casting an annoyed look at her notebook.

It was the second week of term and all classes were in full swing, the hustle of lessons as active as ever. The excitement over the Tournament had died down a bit when the daily grind set in and now it was only discussed during free periods instead of up and down the corridors as it had during the first few days.

Out of the two that had Time-Turners the year before, Heri was the only one still making use of hers. Hermione had turned hers in at the end of last year after she finally accepted that she wasn't capable of using it to the desired effect. Without the Gryffindor girl acting as an ever-present pressure to obey the rules strictly, Heri had taken to sneaking in a few turns of the hourglass for other academic (though personal) pursuits.

It wasn't as if she was goofing off! Professor McGonagall had said the Time-Turner was for her studies, and Heri sure as hell was studying things in depth during her extra hours. She would likely be the very top of the class in Ancient Runes, Ghoul Studies, and Divination for all the extra effort she was putting into them. She knew that some people thought she flew through lessons with minimum effort, but it wasn't possible for anyone to be good at _everything_, and if there was one thing Heri was familiar with, it was hard work. Still, to maintain her image, she had taken to doing the majority of her assignments either under her invisibility cloak during her repeated days — when she only needed to be seen in public during her extra electives — or in her stolen moments.

On this day, being Friday, Heri was taking advantage of the fact that all her assignments for the week were already completed to build onto her image of not needing to put in effort. While her friends and hanger-ons buckled down to finish up for the weekend, she was reading a graphic novel about the adventures of a gutsy warrior-in-training during the era of an ancient Japanese civilization that used their magic as a tool for war-craft. She had been utterly absorbed in a moving dialogue by Maelstrom (the main character) when Sally-Anne made her displeasure known.

"What's wrong?" Heri asked, marking her page and putting her book down.

"Divination assignment," Sally-Anne sighed. "You know the one. We're supposed to keep a log of predictions we make every day using the methods we've been taught. Then we're supposed to compile the predictions and explain what we think it means."

"So, what's the problem?"

"I've got a prediction here that I can't make heads or tails of: _Three will be expected, but four will come._"

Heri thought on it.

"Yes, this does sound like a tricky one. I can't say for certain, but I think we can safely infer that there will be an unexpected result. The question, of course, is what is that result?

"From a numerological standpoint, three is a prime number, and is thought as powerful, often associated with the divine. Four is the first non-prime number, but it's symbolic of balance. On the surface, three becoming four sounds like a good thing, alluding to a possibly godly power growing to become balanced. Of course, that's just a vague interpretation of a vague prediction."

"But what if it's meant to be taken literally?" asked Sally-Anne after she had scribbled down notes. "Like, forget Numerology and symbolism, what if three people are supposed to get somewhere, but an extra person arrives as well?"

"Well, that's also a valid interpretation." Heri nodded. "Pretty much anything can go at the moment. Taking it the way you're saying, it could be an omen as well. Three expected people with an unknown fourth; maybe three known obstacles with an unpredictable extra. Or out of a group of something, the third option is supposed to happen, but the fourth occurs instead. If it's supposed to be a warning, you could take it as_ 'be wary around that which comes in trios, a fourth will accompany them.'_"

Heri placed her forefinger to her lips in thought.

"Which medium did you use?"

"I don't remember. It's written down for the day we got this assignment, but I can't remember even writing it down."

"We started on star-charts that day, maybe was it that?"

"Mmm . . . maybe. I honestly don't remember _anything_ about it."

"Hmm, you might want to put down all possible interpretations then. We could have narrowed it down a bit if you used playing cards or rune-stones or something, but it's vague enough to come from augury."

Sally-Anne eventually nodded her thanks and fell back into silence as she continued with writing the rest of her predictions.

Heri then settled back into her book, wondering how Maelstrom was succeeding at making such a moving speech to the leader of the opposition while a countless number of doppelgängers he had created laid waste to the invading force right in front of them. Such charisma and way with people was admirable. Such skill with magic was impressive too.

* * *

**T**he delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived with much fanfare the day before Halloween. It seemed like the other two school were trying to be impressive, as Beauxbatons arrived in a massive carriage pulled by flying horses, and Durmstrang came out of the Black Lake like a submarine resurfacing in an ominous ship that wouldn't have looked out of place in a pirate's fleet.

After the appropriate amount of posturing, everyone was ushered back inside the Great Hall. Four extra seats had been placed at the Head table, and any confusion as to why it wasn't just two was relieved when two gentlemen were led in by Professor McGonagall.

When the evening meal was finished, the headmaster introduced two additions that had joined the educators at the Head table.

"For those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament, and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions' efforts."

At the mention of the word 'champions,' the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, "The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch."

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old.

"The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman," said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, "and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, and they will test the champions in many different ways . . . their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger."

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

"As you know, three champions compete in the tournament," Dumbledore went on calmly, "one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire."

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.

"Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet," said Dumbledore. "Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

"To ensure that no under-age student yields to temptation," said Dumbledore, "I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line."

That had been last night. In the time between then and now, at least five students had been sent to the Hospital Wing after they had tried to trick the Age Line and ended up being flung out of the circle with beards nearly as long as Dumbledore's. Chatter had been going around the school all day about which of the older students were entering and which would be the likeliest to be chosen. Every House had at least one or two students that had entered publicly.

In Hufflepuff, everyone was rooting for Cedric to be chosen. When he had gotten over the distress all the Quidditch players were in, he had been among the first to submit his name for the Goblet. Once he had shown interest, Heri began hearing murmurs about several of the sixth- and seventh-years that were of age submitting Cedric's name in a show of solidarity. Truth be told, out of the older Hufflepuffs, Cedric really was the likeliest candidate; he was top of his class, quick with a spell in Defence, and was athletic to boot. If any Hufflepuff was going to be chosen, it was going to be Cedric Diggory.

Heri and her friends showed up early to secure seats directly at the end of the table nearest to the professors so they would be able to witness the selection directly. This proved to be the smart thing to do, as not long after they had sat down, more students came pouring in thirty to twenty minutes before dinner would officially start.

Through a combination of the meal being their second feast in two days and the excited buzz in the air, Heri didn't fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as she would have normally. Like everyone else in the Hall, she simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. Judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting, and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, there was less patience going around than usual.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone.

"Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision," said Dumbledore. "I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions' names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber" — he indicated the door behind the staff table — "where they will be receiving their first instructions."

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting . . .

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped.

Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm's length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he read, in a clear, distinct voice, "will be Viktor Krum."

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall. Heri saw Krum rise from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

Again and again did the Goblet flare a burst of flame that carried its selection into the air to the cheer and despair of the audience. The third time Dumbledore plucked a parchment from the flames, all of Hogwarts held their breath until —

"Cedric Diggory!"

If there were any protests from the other Houses, the uproar from the Hufflepuff table was too great to be heard over.

"_CE-DRIC! CE-DRIC! CE-DRIC!_" the chant was taken up among those that weren't lost in wordless exhilaration.

Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming, and stamping, and generally making fools of themselves as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers' table. Heri jumped and whooped with the best of them, exchanging hugs with everyone around her as they screamed, hollerred, and banged on the table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

"Excellent!" Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. "Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —"

Dumbledore cut off by fizzling crackle from the Goblet.

Gasps and cries of shock rang out as a column of fire erupted from the Goblet and shot up into the rafters. The flames bled blue and white from the intensity of the heat. The tongue of fire swirled into itself and condensed into a writhing fireball as they gaped. Before anything could be it done, it stopped abruptly in its climb.

It then came hurling back down.

Straight at the Hufflepuff table.

Heri didn't have time to think, her battle-instinct had gone into overdrive, causing her to jump to her feet the second the fire had erupted. Power rushing through her limbs, Heri grabbed the long table with both hands and flung it away with all her strength, sending the table, the benches connected to it, and the seated students screeching back into the far wall.

The fireball was upon her when —

_WHUMP! FssssSSSSHHHH-__**BTOOM!**_

Heri had thrown herself backwards onto her rear and let her fist swing. Despite how fire was definitely not a solid, she had pounded it away into one of the high windows used for owls. The collusion of extremely hot fire with stone and glass blasted a gaping hole a good six feet in diameter in the wall.

Heri curled into herself, panting and clutching her still clenched fist to her chest. She did not go unscathed from impact; on top of the horrible blistering and charred flesh of her hand and forearm, she could feel broken bones in her knuckles and maybe even her wrist.

"_POTTER/HERI!_" was exclaimed all over the Hall.

Her friends came scrambling from every table as the professors sprang forward to reach her. Hands grabbed her all over.

In the clamber of getting to Heri, the fire in the goblet had turned red again, earning loud shrieks of alarm. Sparks flew out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, Dumbledore reached out seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause in which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room couldn't help but stare at Dumbledore.

And then the headmaster cleared his throat and read out: "Heri Potter."

Fucking crickets.

There were no words.

"What?" Heri breathed. She looked around with wide eyes as her voice rose in disbelief. "_What?!_"

Professors Sprout and McGonagall on either side of Heri helped her to her feet as her friends hovered frantically.

Dumbledore looked grim.

"Professer Sinistra, if you could fetch Madam Pomfrey? Professor Flitwick, would you be so good as to patch Miss Potter up until Madam Pomfrey arrives?"

Both teachers sprang into action, Professor Sinistra all but running from the Hall and Professor Flitwick wielding his wand gravely.

"Would you ladies please escort Miss Potter into the side-chamber?"

"B-but . . . What?" Heri cried, confusion all over her. "I-I-I didn't . . . What's going _on?_"

But the headmaster was adamant.

"This is a discussion best held without an audience."

Heri was led through the door out of the Great Hall and into a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite of the door.

Krum, Cedric, and Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched-up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when Heri was brought in and frowned.

"What 'as 'appened?" she asked, drawing the attention of the boys.

Heri was ushered to a chair where Professor Flitwick did his best to ease some of her pain and repair what he could.

"Heri?" cried Cedric. He rushed over and grabbed her shoulder, eyeing her damaged limb with alarm. "Merlin! What's happened? Why are you hurt?"

"A questioned we'd all like answered, Mr. Diggory," said Dumbledore, coming through the door at a brisk pace. Behind him came the foreign head-teachers and both Ministry officials.

Mr. Bagman came in with an expression that looked as worried as it was awed.

"Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen . . . lady," he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. "May I introduce — incredible though it may seem — the _fourth_ Triwizard champion?"

Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Heri. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to Heri and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Delacour, however, flipped her hair back, frowning, and said, "Eez now ze time for jokes, Meester Bagman?"

"Joke?" Bagman repeated, bewildered. "No, no, not at all! Heri's name just came out of the Goblet of Fire!"

There was much arguing after that. Heated words went back and forth over the Goblets irregular actions and its selection of Heri. The Hogwarts professors were distressed by the near immolation of a table of their students and the injury Heri suffered. The foreign instructors, while bewildered and horrified at the terrible incident that was only just avoided, were disturbed by the fact that another Hogwarts student had been chosen.

"But zair 'as been a mistake!" Delacour said. "She cannot compete. She is too young!"

Bagman only too eagerly contradicted Delacour's assertion. "The age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her name's come out of the goblet . . . I mean, I don't think there can be any ducking out at this stage . . . It's down in the rules, you're obliged; Heri will just have to do the best she —"

"I _have _to?" Heri interrupted. She was being fussed over Madam Pomfrey as Cedric stood on her other side and held her hand in support. She sent the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports a dubious look. "Why? I didn't enter my name; why am I obligated to do anything?"

"So you say you didn't enter?" asked Karkaroff, his smile steely and his eyes hard.

Heri was not cowed. In an even tone, she said, "I certainly did _not_, sir."

"Ah, but of course she is lying!" cried Madam Maxime, looking very put out.

_Well._

"_I beg your pardon, ma'am?_" The chill in Heri's voice could have brought on the next Ice Age. She only just refrained from baring her teeth. "I'd like to know what you think you know of my character that you believe you can just call my _a liar_ without a care or reason!" Her eyes were glowing with ire. She remained seated only because of the two on either side of her that were holding onto her. "_I don't take such accusations lightly, ma'am!_"

"Here now, Heri," murmured Cedric, visibly disturbed by her unusual show of temper. He rubbed her back in a soothing motion. "No need to get worked up about it."

"Cedric, I've just had a tussle with a ball of fire hot enough to melt flesh that came out of cup that's supposed to judge worthiness for a competition and then had my name come flying out for aforementioned competition which I have no business being involved in." Heri's tone was uncompromising. "I want answers, not pointed fingers."

"Miss Potter is quite right," said Professor Sprout, frowning at the French headmistress. "She has never been known to flout the rules and doesn't deserved to be accused for something she is the victim of."

"Mr. Crouch . . . Mr. Bagman," said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, "you are our — er — objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?"

Mr. Crouch spoke in his usual curt voice.

"We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament."

"I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students," said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile; his face wore a very ugly look indeed. "You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It's only fair, Dumbledore."

"But it doesn't work like that," said Bagman. "The Goblet of Fire's just gone out — it won't reignite until the start of the next tournament —"

"— in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!" exploded Karkaroff. "I have half a mind to leave now!"

"Empty threat, Karkaroff," growled a voice from near the door. "You can't leave your champion now. He's got to compete. They've all got to compete. Binding contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?"

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.

"Convenient?" said Karkaroff. "I'm afraid I don't understand you, Moody."

"Don't you?" said Moody quietly. "It's very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Potter's name in that goblet knowing she'd have to compete if it came out."

"Evidently, someone 'oo wished to give 'Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!" said Madame Maxime.

"The Goblet's been tampered with and all you care about is the fact that another student had been chosen?" asked Professor McGonagall, the lines on her face deepening with her displeasure.

"What evidence is zere of _zat?_" said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

"A very powerful magical object has been hoodwinked!" roared Moody. "It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament . . . I'm guessing they submitted Potter's name under a fourth school, to make sure she was the only one in her category . . ."

"We all know that Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn't discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime," said Karkaroff loudly. "Apparently he is now teaching his students to fear assassination too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons."

"Are we all just going to ignore the fact that a fireball exploded out of the Goblet and nearly killed nearby students?" Heri cut in impatiently. "I assumed that was unusual behaviour, but it must be a regular thing to cull the crowd if you're all just going to gripe about an extra champion instead of the maiming."

"Quite right," Dumbledore said, his face unhappy. "Our first priority should be the safety of the children. I think it's been made obvious that the Goblet has been tampered with, and it is clear that whoever did so has little care for anyone that might get injured in the mean time."

"We have yet to disprove that the girl somehow entered herself and mucked it up enough to cause disaster," said Karkaroff, a sneer on his face.

Heri had had enough.

"Come off it," she snapped, her enunciation becoming noticeably less civil. "I'm fourteen years old for Merlin's sake! What d'you expect me to do against an enchantment of a fully trained wizard near a hundred years my senior?"

Madam Pomfrey had finished so Heri got to her feet and went over to Professor Dumbledore. She took a breath through her nose and released it before holding out her hand.

"May I see the parchment if you please, sir?"

The headmaster handed the singed scrap to her.

Heri looked at it and scoffed.

"There's so many things wrong with this thing. There's no school written down next to my name for one. This isn't even my handwriting either!" She gave a significant look to the two Ministry officials. "Surely it can't be binding if it wasn't me that put my name in or even wrote the name?"

Bagman punctured that small hope.

"It was quite common back in the beginning for people to submit the names of others. Often it was the people who were nominated that were chosen to represent their school."

Heri sighed.

"This is ridiculous!"

There was a moment of agitated silence.

"How this situation arose, we do not know," said Dumbledore at long last, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. "We will have to remove the Goblet of Fire from the school to be checked over for its malfunctions, but it seems to me that we have no choice but to accept its decision. Both Cedric and Heri have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do."

"Ah, but Dumbly-dorr —"

"My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it."

Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn't the only one either; Karkaroff livid.

"Well, shall we crack on, then?" Bagman said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. "Got to give our champions their instructions, haven't we? Barty, want to do the honours?"

Mr. Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie.

"Yes," he said. "Instructions. Yes . . . the first task . . ."

* * *

**H**eri and Cedric return to the dorms both very dissatisfied. The agitated crowd that had been waiting for them had mixed feelings when they were told that Heri was required to compete as well. On one hand, Hogwarts having two champions was unfair and came about through someone tampering with the Goblet of Fire; on the other hand, both champions for Hogwarts were Hufflepuffs, both were heavily popular for their own merits, and both were known for being talented. It seemed that the outcome was actually heavily in Hufflepuff's favour despite the sketchy means.

Heri threw herself into her usual seat between Sally-Anne and Hannah when everyone had calmed down enough to pretend to go back to the usual night's routine even as the chatter about the Tournament was used as background noise to their studying and faffing about. She sighed heavily through her nose when her friends asked if she was alright.

"_Three will be expected, but four will come_," Heri said eventually. She looked at Sally-Anne and smiled wryly. "This is one interpretation we didn't consider."

* * *

_**D**__ear Sirius, _

_Due to the unfortunate luck that plagues me whenever Halloween comes around, I've destroyed part of the Great Hall with a fireball I punched, and got chosen as a fourth champion for the Triwizard Tournament. I hope you realize that you and Remus are now obligated to come and watch whether you had been planning to or not. _

_I would ask you to contact your solicitor, but apparently the contract is magically binding. Did I mention that I hate Halloween? Well, I do._

_Love,_

_Heri_

_P.S. Please tell Auntie Andromeda to send me a pair of gloves that are unassuming enough to be worn casually, but are nice enough that I can wear them with dress-robes. The fireball that I punched was made from the flames of the Goblet of Fire; apparently, magically-induced burn scars are like curse scars and can't be undone. I would be more upset, but the scars are flame shaped and actually look really wicked._

* * *

**O**n another plane of existence, the body of a man was stretched out across a thick mattress and soft sheets. His breath was even and deep, the slow inhalation of a person in a deep slumber. All was quiet, the silence of the chamber as calm as an undiscovered tomb.

Suddenly, the man jolted, his head turning to the side as if turning to look at someone. With a groan, a bleary eye cracked open, the colour a dark forest green. The gaze was unfocused and soon slid closed again, the man drawing in a deep breath before going limp once again.

October 31st, he thought as he drifted back to sleep. It was _her_ birthday.

* * *

**ANOTHER (sort of) IMPORTANT THING:**

You might have noticed that I occasionally write _jinx'd_ instead of _jinxed_, or _summon'ing_ instead of _summoning_. I do this to differentiate between the performance of a type of spell from the non-magical action. "We were doing fine until he jinxed it" and "It was an ordinary door until he jinx'd it" mean two completely different things. I never thought to mention this reasoning before and became aware of the confusion when a reader kindly sent me a PM with some of typos after they read a chapter and included this particular spelling variation as a misspelling.


	6. The Metamorphosis pt 2 (pt 2)

**AN:** Part 2 of Part 2 is here! If you haven't read the first part of fourth year, go see the previous chapter!

**Shout-outs** to Blueowl's _**Mysterious Thing, Time **_for the information about how crayons affect runes, and Silently Watches' _**The Black Princess**_ for parts of the confrontation with the dragon. I recommend the first story if you like time-travel, Good!Dumbledore, magic theory, and cuteness involving baby Harry; it's unfinished, but definitely worth it. I _highly_ recommend the second story if you like a good Dark!Heiress!Killer!Bi!Fem!Harry, excellent magical theory, and getting pulled in to the point where you cackle along with the anti-hero lead.

* * *

Chapter Five: The Metamorphosis pt. 2 (pt. 2)

* * *

**B**ane and Firenze were displeased at hearing of Heri's participation in the Triwizard Tournament. Displeased was almost an understatement with the way Bane had cursed the idiocy of wizards and their magical bindings that did as much harm to themselves as they did to other creatures. They had then decided that it was imperative that she spend the entirety of the time she didn't spend in class on repeated days honing her skills in the Forest.

Since that day, Heri had been worked into the ground, as both her instructors agreed that they couldn't waste any time in whipping her into physical condition to compete against students bigger and older than herself. In effect, her stealth and evasion could now be likened to those of a ninja, and the Forest's population of Acromantulas and other aggressive monsters was at its lowest as a result.

Joining them in Heri's training were a handful of dryads and other nature beings that the centaurs had convinced to help. While sweet-faced and retiring in personality, those ladies ran Heri through the wringer with exercises on flexibility and light-footedness. As she huffed and puffed behind the tree nymphs that ran like the wind through the greenery, Heri acknowledged that she normally made an awful lot of noise as she sprinted at a speed not that much faster than the average human. Oh, sure, she was as evasive as any nymph, but she wasn't yet anywhere near as fast.

They kindly hammered speed into her skinny limbs as some of them took to chasing after her with swords that they had already proved that they were willing to use. Nothing like increasing your speed by running for your sodding life.

On top of physical work, the nymphs began teaching her their kind of magic. It turned out that some of them had been witches before; while many had been born nature spirits, others had been transformed by deities they had encountered long, long ago. While their magic was different enough that there were things Heri would never be able to do — Out-run gods; photosynthesise; travel tree-to-tree through the roots — she _could _(eventually) learn to melt into the body of a tree, and transform herself into a plant. It was slow going, but she hoped to be able to perform at least one of the skills being taught to her in time to use them during the Tasks.

During one of Heri's training periods, Hedwig arrived in a flutter of feathers and squawks of bird-cries. On that day, she was a larger than average raven, and she took plain delight in landing on Bane's back, making the centaur snort and stamp at the uninvited extra weight.

"Hello, lovey," said Heri, easing out of the stretch she was in. She sat up and crossed her legs under her. It was almost time for Heri to return to the castle, so the nymphs had already left after assigning her usual post-workout cool-downs. "Do you have a letter for me already?"

Heri had sent out one of her bi-weekly letters to Sirius only yesterday, so she hadn't been expecting a response so quickly.

"No letter!" Hedwig rasped, making use of the advance syrinx of the corvus genus. She galloped a bit on Bane's back, much to his agitation. "Gift! Gift!"

Heri frowned in confusion.

"Sirius sent me a gift instead of a letter? But I already have the gloves I asked for."

Auntie Andromeda had sent via Sirius above and beyond the all-occasion gloves Heri had asked for. Along with their fretting letters about the scarring and the danger she was in, Heri had received a pair of very practical half-finger gloves made from Mooncalf hide. Mooncalves had thin, almost papery grey skin, which translated into a leather that was as fine and flexible as rice paper. On top of integrating them into her everyday wear so others would not stare at her new scarring, she had taken to wearing them during her training, as they aided her grip on top of looking fabulous.

"Not dog-man!" Hedwig squawked.

Heri's expression turned into one of exasperation.

"Have you been letting people use you to bring things to me again? Hedwig, you can't trust just anyone! What if they try to hurt you or send a hexed letter or something?"

"Not hexed!"

"And how would you —?"

"Not! Hexed!" Hedwig insisted. She stuck out her left fore-leg to reveal not a letter, but a pouch attached.

Heri huffed.

"I suppose I'll have to take your word for it."

The pouch was plainly coloured but was made of a soft material Heri couldn't identify. Not willing to forgo caution, she sprouted a tendril from under the back of her shirt and used it to untie the pouch from Hedwig's leg. She sprouted another to reach into the opening. It seemed to have an Expansion Charm on it, since Heri's immaterial limb reached in a lot farther than it should have been able to.

Drawing her appendage back, she pulled out something smoothed and curved.

When her eyes landed on the thing, Heri couldn't help but gape. What? But how? It _couldn't _be —

"Basilisk fang?" said Bane, his face as slack as hers. "Who would send such a kingly gift?"

Heri's extra appendages withdrew back into her body, letting said kingly gift dropped into her hands.

In her grasp was a finely crafted slingshot made out of what was unmistakably the basilisk fang she had sacrificed to her godly parent back in second year. Here it was again, but this time, it had been polished to a pearlescent shine and capped with a silvery metal on the tip and the crown of the tooth. The crown had been shaved down, shaping it into twin prongs, and metal links attached the bands to it. The curved fang the size of a buffalo's horn fit comfortably in her slacked grip.

In wonder, Heri ran her fingers down the metal capping at the bottom, noticing that it wasn't as tight around the pointed end as it was on the prongs. Without thought, she held the slingshot in both hands and pull the two ends apart, giving a small sound when the capping proved to actually be a sheath. The fang was as sharp as ever, and she could see that it was still venomous from the way the tip glistened yellow.

"I suppose this means they're paying more attention than I originally thought," said Heri, her tone detached as she was lost in admiring her new weapon. "I wonder if this counts as divine intervention."

* * *

**H**eri shifted forward in her seat, gripping a crayon firmly as she brought the blue tip of it to the parchment. With her tongue against the corner of her mouth, she pressed the coloured wax onto the page, curving it around to make a perfect circle.

Ah, runes. Marvellous things, really, especially when one was too young to do wand-magic outside of school.

It was a week away from the First Task and Heri was taking a break from her training in dealing with a dragon. A few days ago, Hagrid had learned that dragons were brought in when the Weasley boy he was good friends with — Charlie, the dragon-tamer — invited him out to see them as a treat. Hagrid, in turn, invited Madam Maxime — whom he fancied — and Heri to come see them with him. Hidden under her Invisibility Cloak, Heri had watched with wide eyes as the massive beasts tore into their food and thrashed in their cages.

The time she didn't spend working to the bone in the Forest was spent scouring the library with her friends. After warning Cedric about the dragons, she had told her friends about what she would be facing. They had been aghast and insisted that they help her research how to deal with dragons. She hadn't entered the tournament of her own free will, and she certainly wasn't anywhere near as trained in magic as the three other champions, so it was only right that she had a boost to reach their level. At least, that was what Hannah insisted as she inducted Neville and Luna into joining their cause as well.

Heri could understand where her friends were coming from with their concern, so she didn't let it bother her that they were even more clingy than usual. Usually, she could slip away by herself every once in a while on a non-repeated day, but now they travelled in a pack literally everywhere, the boys even loitered outside the loo for them. It was even worse than the time in second year when she was being accused of genocide. It was annoying, but she knew it made them feel better to be in a large group; it was that pack mentality seemingly inherent to Hufflepuffs.

What _did_ bother Heri was that Rita Skeeter woman and her constant hounding for an interview.

Heri had had the dubious pleasure of meeting the noxious Ms. Skeeter at the Weighing of the Wands wherein Mr. Ollivander had been brought in to check if the champions' wands were in working order.

"Ah, _yes,_" Ollivander had said when it was Heri's turn. He greeted her with a bright grin and a gleam in his eyes. "Yes, yes, _yes_, I remember this wand well. Holly and phoenix feather with a pomegranate handle. A wand that will aid in much greatness. Did I inform you before that the feather comes from the generous Fawkes, Headmaster Dumbledore's marvellous familiar?"

Skeeter's enchanted quill went flying across her parchment at that. A predatory smile had alighted her face.

Ollivander then conjured a fountain of wine and returned it with a fond tilt of his lips. "No doubt it has already witnessed a measure of the things you will achieve."

"Miss Potter, we haven't gotten an interview or an individual photograph of you yet!" Skeeter had cried when Heri had made her escape at the end.

"Terribly sorry!" Heri had said, feigning an apologetic look as she hurried away. "I already missed the end of my last lesson and I don't want to be late for my next one! If you_ really_ need an individual photo of me, contact my personal photographer, Colin Creevey!"

Colin was ecstatic when Heri found him later on and made her previous bluff a reality. With an actual contract that she then sent to be filed by Sirius' solicitor, she had him on record as the only person with the legal right to take professional photos of her and distribute them publicly. Skeeter was not happy at all when Colin took advantage of his new position to deny Skeeter's request, citing the lack of an appointment and written inquiry as his reasons.

Ever since, the troublesome tart had been hounding Heri's footsteps. Heri had read the drivel that passed as news articles that the woman wrote and wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. On such occasions that Skeeter tried to approach her, Heri was enormously appreciative of how Hufflepuffs herded together to block out interlopers; after Heri expressed her dislike of the woman and Cedric mentioned that she tried to get the champions to say bad things about each other for the articles, Skeeter never again managed to get within twenty feet of either Hogwarts champion.

It was all exhausting, so on that day, instead of getting bothered by the Tournament and the people that insisted on badgering her (hehe, 'badgering'), she was focusing on something entirely different. Since Quidditch was cancelled because of the Tournament, this left her with playing mad scientist (sorcerer?) on Iolanthe. Heri had packed up the necessary equipment for her work and found herself an empty room in a disused part of the castle where she would be unlikely to be disturbed; she ended up near the hall where Sir Nick held his yearly death-day party.

Heri had wanted Io to talk since she had first planned on animating her. While her rune of animation had worked up to point, it didn't succeed in giving the doll a voice. Understandable, of course, since talking wasn't a necessary part of being alive. It had been a little disappointing, but that just gave her the opportunity to get creative with another rune cluster. In any case, Iolanthe made up for her lack of speech through her expressive behaviour.

Heri put the blue crayon down and picked up a red one.

Very much by accident had she learned a new dynamic of runes: The colours one used to draw them affected their strength, balance, and how they worked with other runes. It was something no book she had ever read before covered and she doubted they ever would. She didn't think any witch or wizard had ever tried drawing runes with anything but a wand, a quill, or ritual chalk; because of their muggle origin, crayons likely didn't even exist in their minds despite their usefulness.

That was another thing. Crayons themselves were surprisingly magical, or at least conducted magic extremely well. She didn't know if it was the wax — an excellent conduit of magic — used to make them, or the fact that they were made with the intent to be a creative outlet, but she made them a part of her rune-crafting kit when she realised that the sketch of a bind-rune she was working on for class worked better than the finished version she had made with black ink.

Heri put the red pastel down before picking up the page to hold it up to the light, making sure she had applied the colours evenly.

"Io?" Heri said, glancing around the abandoned office she had found.

An answer came in the form of a clatter from the dusty bookshelf as Iolanthe popped out of an empty fish bowl and nearly fell off the shelf. A tinkling sound much like a glass bell chimed when the doll opened her mouth. She had no mechanism for vocalisation yet, but she could make _some _sound with the way her porcelain tongue clinked around in her porcelain mouth.

"Come here for a bit, would you, poppet?" said Heri, motioning to the table she was sitting at. "It's almost ready for you."

Iolanthe perked up visibly and tinkled in excitement. With all the recklessness that came from being a chunk of Heri's magic in a physical vessel, she took a flying leap from the bookshelf, performed a double front-flip, and landed in a handstand. The little show-off.

Heri dutifully gave Iolanthe a round of applause when she gave Heri eager, expectant eyes. Curse those puppy-dog eyes. Did Heri look like that too when she was hopeful? It would be a powerful look to utilise; it could be combined with cutesy Position No. 3 to topple nations.

Heri took the slip of parchment she was working on and transfigured it into thick paper. Then she shrunk it until the seal she had created was the size of the first knuckle of Io's thumb. Finishing that, she handed the tiny scrap of paper to the eager doll.

"Now," Heri said, "put that on your tongue with the image facing down."

Iolanthe did as instructed, carefully placing the seal so that it sat in the centre of her tongue. When she was satisfied, she looked back to Heri for more instructions.

"Alright, now just hold still," said Heri, leaning forward with her wand in her hand. "This won't hurt, but I'd rather not chance burning anything accidentally."

The tip of her wand glowed bright red as Heri placed it to the faint outline still visible. The colour of wax bled through the back of the paper as it melted from the overpowered heating spell. Cautiously, Heri turned the spell from a heating charm to branding spell. The lines of melted wax and charred paper burned into the surface, the china of Iolanthe's tongue . . . scarring, for a lack of a better word.

When Heri cancelled the spelled, the paper was nothing but ash on the glistening wet wax embedded into Io's little tongue.

"One last thing . . ." she muttered, flicking her wand just so, causing a stream of freezing air to fill Iolanthe's mouth. "And we're done!"

Iolanthe cautiously prodded the tongue she still had sticking out, running her fingers over the smooth new texture of the rune on it.

"Give it a try," Heri prodded her.

Iolanthe frowned lightly.

"Is . . ." a faltering, chirpy voice came. "Is it working?"

Huge, beaming smiles alighted on both of their faces.

"It worked!" they crowed in tandem.

Another success! Heri had worried it would be another failure after how poorly the seal had done with ink; another credit for crayons! She had to add this to her family grimoire! She could put Iolanthe's entire creation outline in the book for future generations to come!

Oh, what else could she work on now? She had other things she had brought from home that she had started working on already, maybe she could make greater headway on them as well!

Heri stuffed her equipment and kit into her satchel and slung the bag of her shoulders. She plucked Iolanthe up and rushed out of the room, clutching the squealing doll to her chest.

"We have to tell Myrtle!" Heri said. "Now you two can have a proper conversation when you visit her!"

Heri's giddiness after an experiment well done lasted well up to the day of the First Task.

* * *

**H**eri stood just within the entrance of the stadium. There were hundreds and hundreds of faces staring down at her from stands that had been magicked there for the sake of the Task. At the other end of the enclosure was the Hungarian Horntail, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her serpentine, yellow eyes upon Heri. She was a gigantic, scaly, black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouges in the hard ground. The crowd was making a great deal of noise, but whether friendly or not, Heri didn't know or care.

Heri was dressed (ironically) in an athletic outfit that had been pressed upon her which greatly resembled the traditional Hogwarts' uniform she had told her friends about on the train, but with the cassock split to allow leg movement and black trousers underneath. Her hair and fringe were slicked back in a no-nonsense topknot, her usual accessories forgone lest they be destroyed. Circling her hips was a leather belt that not only held her tabard in place but gave her a place to attach the pouch that carried the things she had thought might come in handy that day. She had never actually been able to prepare herself to face a monster before, so her exasperation at having the wear the outfit was eclipsed by her almost giddy anticipation.

Out of all the monsters Heri had faced yet, this dragon was right there next to the sixty-foot long Basilisk for how monstrously terrifying it was. It was just as deadly as well, what with the fire-breathing, claws, and spiked tail. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined that she would one day face such a beast.

Despite the threat the dragon presented, Heri was actually excited. With trained dragon-tamers on hand and skilled wizards acting as judges, there wasn't actually any risk of her being killed; they couldn't afford to have _actually_ deadly tasks son soon in the reinstatement of the tournament since that would risk international confrontation. As such, it was very easy for Heri to regard it with the same severity as hunting the carnivorous monsters in the Forbidden Forest; dangerous, but not life-threatening.

"Miss Potter?" boomed Bagman, his voice enhanced with an Amplifying Charm. "Whenever your ready."

Heri took in the sight of rocky terrain, the tall walls of the stadium made of stone and chained fencing, and the agitated chained down dragon snarling and flicking its wings. She smiled grimly and left the safety of the trees.

Striding out into the open, Heri pointed her wand at the ground and drew precise symbols, muttering a spell under her breath. She had only done this spell a few times before with moderate results, but she was hoping that with the increase in dust and dirt around . . . Yes! In five whirlwinds in front of her, gravel and sand from the stadium ground swirled up, compacted, and turned into five extra Heri Potters, identical in features if extremely washed out in colouring.

Tch, they were supposed to be fully coloured. Looks like quantity negated quality. She would need to work more at it.

"Now, here's something new!" Bagman cried. "I don't think I've seen this spell before!"

Heri ignored the commentary. Until the end of this Task, nothing outside of the rocky battlegrounds existed.

"Wait for my signal," she told the debris clones, leading them closer to the dragon.

The dragon looked enraged to see that the number of intruders in her territory had increased. She snorted a gout of flames and growled in warning as Heri and her doppelgängers got within shouting distance.

_§Threat!§_ it snarled in the language that all reptiles used. _§ANGER. Foul egg-thieves. Must defend. MY eggs! Burning fire. Rip apart!§_

Heri stopped and raised her hands in a placating manner.

_§I don't intend to steal your eggs!§ _Heri called up to the irate beast, absently registering a chorus of gasps and exclamations all around her. ("She's talking to it!" boomed out.)

The dragon reared back for a moment before giving an enraged roar.

_§__**MY**__ EGGS. PROTECT MY EGGS!§_

_§Please, there is an extra egg in your nest,§ _Heri told her, pointing at the golden egg visible from under the Horntail's girth._ §It's not yours! It was planted there! I can remove it for you!§_

_§Must defend. Thieves want my eggs. I will burn! Fire scorches!§_

_§Please, it will hatch and destroy your eggs! Let me help you!§_

_§You will not touch my eggs!§ _the Horntail hissed, thrashing the ground with its tail again.

Heri huffed. This was going nowhere. The dragon gave no sign that she comprehended what Heri was trying to tell her at all. Heri decided to pull back, keeping her eyes on the angry reptile.

"Alright, ladies!" Heri called to her constructs when she was back a few more yards. She lifted her free hand in a 'wait' sign as all six of them shifted into running stances. "Evasive manoeuvring; split up and distract it! Ready?"

They tensed for action.

"_Scatter!_"

Heri bolted behind the nearest boulder when the Horntail spat a gout of flames at the charging doppelgängers. Since they were made of wind and sediment, they were nearly as fast as nymphs and easily evaded destruction. The constructs weaved in and out of range, climbed on rock clusters, scrabbled on the chain fencing, and bellowed at the top of their lungs, doing everything they could think of to confuse the dragon while Heri crept along the edge of the enclosure.

The Horntail roared in agitation. Heri darted from behind a pile of rubble and took cover beside an uprooted tree when the dragon side-swiped a construct that got too close, taking out a chunk of its middle and sending it staggering back. With a look of surprise on its face, the doppelgänger crumbled back into debris, creating a temporary cloud of dust that the others used as cover.

Heri cursed and rolled out of sight as the dragon lashed out at one of the remaining doppelgängers that was dashing not far from where she was hiding.

It would have been so much easier if she could cast a shield charm or something, but that was presently out of the question. The creation of the dust constructs was maintained magic, and she couldn't cast anything else until she cancelled the spell or they were all destroyed. As they were doing a pretty good job of distracting the dragon, Heri was hoping to snatch the golden egg up while the dragon wasn't looking.

That plan looked iffy at best when the dragon took out two more doppelgängers with a blast of fire and a swipe of her claws. The two remainders quickly decided that a new plan was in order when the dragon then spotted Heri before she could take cover once more. One caught her up in a fireman hold and made a break for it as the other jumped between them and the dragon, sacrificing itself to the flames.

"Alright, Plan A and B were a bust," Heri breathed, crouching near the trees again. "Time for Plan C."

Heri stuck her wand through the base of her topknot and reached for the pouch she had attached to her belt. She pulled out the Horntail simulacrum she had gotten from Bagman. She then shifted her hold on the animated figurine and reached back in the bag for the other thing she needed.

When Heri's hand latched on to what she was looking for, she gave a pleased sound and pulled that out as well. It was Ignis, the dragon statuette that Hagrid had given her for her twelfth birthday. It had gone through the trials of Heri's experimentations as most of her belongings had, and was now capable of flight on top of being fully articulated in the same manner as Iolanthe. It was not autonomous like Iolanthe, but it was easily directed.

Heri cancelled the spell for the dust doppelgängers. She tossed the two figurines on the ground before turning her wand on them in turn with Engorgement Charms. Ignis was made the size of a horse and the Horntail figurine grew to the size of an Asiatic elephant.

"_Dirigo!_" she cast upon the simulacrum, binding it to function under her control.

The elephantine dragon figure stood at attention, awaiting instruction, the golden medallion declaring Heri as the fourth champion to face her dragon still dangling at its neck.

Heri climbed onto the back of Ignis and settled herself into the groove of its spine that was meant for its wings. Ignis came to life (figuratively) when Heri pressed her hand against a sigil at the base of its skull with precise intent. She gripped it there firmly, securing her hold. It cantered in place much like a jittery horse and tossed its head.

"Irritate her into leaving her nest," Heri told the miniature Horntail.

The simulacrum did as it was told, emerging out from where they had been hidden with a roar of unmistakable challenge, startling both the crowd and the mother dragon. Heri and Ignis soon followed, but shot up into the sky instead of attacking directly; it wouldn't do to drive the Horntail into a complete frenzy.

One thing Heri had learned during her research was that dragons were extremely territorial. In the wild, this wasn't so much of a problem, but reserve-bred dragons started attacking each other as soon as they were hatched. Such fights were vicious, responsible for the majority of injuries that dragon-tamers suffered. It should go without saying that as soon as the Horntail saw the enlarged figurine and heard its challenge, it wanted nothing more than to rip it apart.

Heri and Ignis were saved from the aggression by flying out of range. They circled overhead like a bird of prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The simulacrum (Ptolemy was a good name) made a nuisance of itself by diving and darting in and _just_ out of striking distance. The Horntail's head followed it around, her neck stretching and slithering like a serpent. Unfortunately, she didn't to want to take off, putting more importance on her eggs than her need to eliminate competition. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those fearsome yellow eyes on her target, she was too wary to move away from her eggs.

Heri chose then to body-slam the back of the Horntail's head, making the creature jerk in surprise and diverting a blast of fire that narrowly missed Ptolemy. The Horntail roared in outrage and whipped her tail up, but Heri and Ignis were already swerving away, looping around to back-up the simulacrum.

"Go for the eggs!" she called to Ptolemy, rushing at the Horntail's face with a spell aimed at its eyes.

The Horntail had to jerk its head out of the way of Heri's spell, but it didn't miss Ptolemy swooping too close for comfort near her clutch. Snarling, it nailed Ptolemy in the chest with its claws, causing the simulacrum to go weaving backwards like a drunken housefly.

It appeared that such an attack toward her eggs was the last straw for the Horntail. At lasts, she reared, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last, and launched herself at her smaller counterpart.

"_Díkaios avástachti píesi!_" Heri cried, swinging her wand forward as if it was sword.

The Horntail actually jerked a bit as Heri's spell came to bear. It was a spell one of the older witch-turned-dryads had taught her, called the Burden of Atlas; a combination of increased air pressure and gravity made the area surrounding the target bear down, pressing them into the ground with weight that was just a step away from crushing them into paste. It wasn't anywhere near strong enough to push a magically resistant creature like the dragon into the ground and leave her unable to move like it would with any other sort of creature, but it did slow her down a great deal.

Taking advantage of the situation, another spell fell from Heri's lips, her wand pointed in the direction of the eggs.

Unfortunately, Heri's Burden of Atlas didn't stop the Horntail from breathing fire. She let loose a gout that burned blue with her ire, catching Ptolemy on its legs. One leg was burned to char and the other melted right off. As Ptolemy wasn't a living thing, the scorching didn't hinder its flying at all, but the nature of its animating charm had it yowling as if it was in actual pain.

_§HEY!§_ Heri yelled, leading Ignis in charging the dragon once more.

The distraction she provided granted enough time for Ptolemy to retreat, taking refuge higher up in the sky. The presser-inducing spell was wearing off due to the magically-resistant nature of dragon hide, but the Horntail was still slow enough that Heri managed to nail it in the eye with her slingshot. The dragon hissed belligerently and lashed out with a claw, but Heri and Ignis were already speeding away.

It was then that the Horntail noticed Heri's and Ignis' proximity to her nest. With a vicious snarl that actually made the stadium echo, the dragon broke free of the spell and hurled after them.

"Eat this!" Heri shouted, landing another hit in the dragon's face.

The pain from the eye-irritating solution Heri had soaked her ammunition in wasn't enough to stop the Horntail, but it bought Heri a precious few seconds while the dragon thrashed blindly. That was all Heri needed.

Ignis dived. Before the dragon could reorient herself, they were speeding toward the ground as fast as they could go, toward the unprotected eggs. Heri leaned over the side of Ignis — her arm was reaching out —

And in a huge spurt of speed and light, they were off, rocketing up to where Ptolemy was waiting, far out of the Horntail's reach. Clinging to Heri's back was the doppelgänger she had created while the Horntail had been distracted, the golden egg pressed safely into its stomach. When it was safe, she tucked the egg under one arm and dismissed the doppelgänger.

Allowing herself a calming breath, Heri watched as the dragon-tamers swarmed into the stadium. When the Horntail was properly subdued, she led her simulacrums back down. It was as if somebody had just turned the volume back up — for the first time, she became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, screaming and applauding as loudly as the Irish supporters at the World Cup.

"Look at that!" Bagman was yelling. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion not only put on a spectacular show, she isn't injured at all! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Miss Potter!"

So caught up by the spectacle of Heri's showing, Bagman made no mention of the burst of bright light that had lit over Heri's head when she hauled up her double. Many in the crowd thought the light had been caused by some spell Heri had cast and thought nothing more of it. Only a select few understood the meaning of the incandescent image haloing the head of one who had just proved herself in battle.

* * *

**I**t was after the post-Task party in Hufflepuff that Zacharias and Ernie covertly led Heri aside. The others were already in the midst of their pre-slumber rituals even though it was still a good two hours before curfew, so it was very simple for the three of them to slip off.

Ernie wasn't sure how to feel about things. On one hand, it was always wonderful to discover a new demigod; there was an innate camaraderie between those of divine descent, an inborn sense of connection that came from being the offspring of the forces of nature and the manifestations of the aspects of humanity. On the other hand, it was incredibly jarring when a proper one — one with an actual divine parent — popped up, since Magical Britain's demigod population was small and derived mainly from ancestry. Among them, Ernie himself was considered a rarity, what with him being a first generation legacy. In hindsight, it was pretty obvious to those that knew the signs that Heri was a demigoddess, but new ones were rare enough that it took them all by surprise.

Not that they had told her yet, of course. It wouldn't do to go blurting it out where her potential freak-out could draw unwanted attention. It was an open secret among wizards that the Gods fraternised among them, but the resulting offspring and families liked to keep themselves low-key and within their own little social circle. As such, Ernie and Zacharias felt duty-bound to bring Heri to the gathering that had been agreed upon before they informed her of what she was.

Well, _Ernie_ felt duty-bound; Zacharias was caught up somewhere between irritated that another person shared the trait that made him special, and smug that it was _his_ friend that was a newly discovered demigod.

"Where _are_ we going?" asked Heri, looking back to the hall of tapestries they had just talked through. "What's so important that we need to go to the other side of the school to discuss it?"

"Others will be meeting us there. It'll be easier to explain then," Ernie replied vaguely.

The usual rendezvous spot was up in the North bell tower, not too out of the way from the usual routes to lessons, but far enough that it wasn't anywhere a regular student would wander up to. Meetings weren't a regular thing, usually they just gathered at the beginning of the school-year to take note of what demigods if any had started that year, but times came that a previously unknown was discovered, and of course they had to be introduced and informed. The last new demigod was Nandini Johar, currently a second-year Gryffindor, but she had moved to Britain only two years ago, so she was more an Indian demigoddess than a British one.

When the three of them finally made it to the bell tower, everyone else had already arrived, all waiting expectantly. Zacharias ushered Heri in first while Ernie checked to make sure no one had follower them before closing the heavy wooden door.

There was currently fifteen of them in Hogwarts, including Heri. Two had graduated the year before — the frightening Marcus Flint was a 13th generation legacy of Mars, and Prefect Penelope Clearwater was the daughter of Concordia — while the others that were known and of school age weren't capable enough to attend Hogwarts. They were expecting a handful more in the coming years, but their number had never exceeded thirty at any time. A good half of them were Greco-Romantic (as to be expected), but nearly every pantheon had been represented over time, this year's bunch having representatives of African and Asian pantheons.

"_So-oo . . ._" said Heri grasping her hands behind her. "What's going on?"

There was a moment of silence wherein those in the know look at each other. They hadn't decided yet who would inform Heri about the truth of her birth. None of them really wanted to be the one to tell their orphaned Dark Lord vanquisher that her mother who had been all but sainted wasn't as faithful as she had thought.

"You're dad isn't really James Potter but a god or goddess. That makes you a demigod like the rest of us here."

Eyes flew to Zarcharias, standing just off to the side of where Heri was standing, hands in his pockets, and scowling at the wall. He shrugged as everyone else gaped.

"Just thought you should know," he said, looking over at Heri.

Heri's face was slack. She quickly blinked twice.

"Excuse me?"

"We know it's hard to believe," Ernie chimed in, giving Zacharias a hard look. "But it's true! I'm a legacy of Clio, Muse of history, and Zach's the son of Pheme, goddess of fame and notoriety. Our families have been interacting with the Gods for ages! We all know the signs, and there isn't a doubt that you're one of us!"

Ernie pushed Eddie Carmichael, a fifth-year Ravenclaw, to the forefront.

"Carmichael's family descends from Oghma," he chattered on, "a Celtic god of communication and writing, so he's the expert on demigod spotting! Go on, Carmichael, tell her who you think her father is!"

Carmichael was visibly flustered at being put on the spot in front of a still not reacting Heri Potter, but he did as he did best and started spewing out facts.

"Right! From the traits I've observed, especially the-the war hammer we saw during the First Task — w-well, it might have been a club or, um, a pernach or something since didn't really get a good look at it — but I, um, I've narrowed it down to gods of battle. There's Thor, of course — his symbol's a hammer — he's a Norse god of war and storms; there's Belatucadros, a Gaulish war god; Agrona, a Proto-Celtic goddess of war and strife; Haphaestus or Vulcan, again because of the hammer; Hercules, the Greco-Romantic god of heroes — his symbol's a club; Aeron, a Celtic god of battle and slaughter; erm, basically any of the Egyptian deities; the Morrígan, an Irish triple goddess of prophecy and death on the battlefield; Durga, the Hindu goddess of—"

"My mother would have told me if I had an older sister," cut in the formerly newest addition, Nandini Johar. She crossed her arms and gave a pointed look. "Your panicking is doing nothing to assure her."

It was then that the door opened again. Coming through the door Ernie was certain he had bolted, Luna Lovegood made her ditzy way in, humming and skipping as if she was frolicking through a field of flowers.

"Luna?" said Heri, expression finally returning to her face.

"Hello, Heri. Congratulations for being claimed. I've never seen such a beautiful mace before. Your father must be very picky when having children."

"It was a _hammer_, Lovegood," said Zarcharias, a bored look on his face.

"_Most likely_ a war hammer," Carmichael corrected. "As I said, we were a bit too far away. It could've been a battle axe as well."

Heri gave them doubtful looks before turning back to Lovegood.

"You're, erm, you are a . . . a _demigod_ as well, Luna?" She sounded still unconvinced.

"I suppose that's a word for it," Lovegood replied, twirling a strand of hair. "Gran-gran is one of the Morai, the Mother of their Maiden-Mother-Crone. I'm not sure if they're true goddesses or personifications. Gran-gran's the allotter of the threads, Lachesis."

"So . . . Did you see me coming?"

Lovegood hummed. "I didn't actually. Your lines of Fate are nearly impossible to follow. Always doubling back or changing altogether. Have you been initiated into the Order of the Oddfish yet?"

There was a loud groan. Another second-year Gryffindor girl, Romilda Vane, moved forward, her hands on her hips. She was a third generation legacy of Bia, minor goddess/personification of forcefulness.

"For the last time, Lovegood!" the curly-haired brunette snapped. "We are _not _calling ourselves that! It's absurd and has _nothing_ to do with what we are!"

"I'll thank you to not use such an presumptuous tone when talking to one of my friends," Heri said in response, her lips flattening into a straight line. Ernie and Zacharias winced at her stringent tone; she was only ever this formally-worded when she was ready to smack a bitch. "If you can't maintain a civil tongue while in a public forum, it's best to keep your ill-tempered mouth _shut._"

Heri stared the younger girl down until she bowed her head, cowed.

"_Now._" Heri crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Jokes aside, what's this about my father not being my real father? Not only is that insulting beyond words, it isn't true."

"Heri—"

"_Ernie_." Her tone was adamant. "The genealogy tapestry at my godfather's house declares me the flesh and blood child of both Lily _and_ James Potter. No doubt you already know that if _any_ soft of magic would be a fool-proof judge of familial relation, it would be _Black_ family magic."

"Wha—?" Ernie gaped. "But . . . You're a demigoddess! There's no doubt about it!"

"Well, yes, I am, but I don't know why being a demigoddess means my parents aren't my parents."

Suffice to say that the rest of the meeting didn't go anywhere near how Ernie excepted it to go. In the end, the already aware Heri was introduced to the rest of the semi-divine without anyone of the gravity of circumstance Ernie had been expecting. None of them could figure out how Heri managed to have two fully mortal parents, and not only that, but they were no closer to figuring out who her divine parent was than they were at the start. As Carmichael kept insisting, they had been too far away from Heri to get a proper look at the hammer-like image, so all they knew was that her parent was related to battle in some way.

Possibly.

Maybe.

* * *

**T**he weeks after the First Task were marked with the increase of Heri's popularity amongst her peers. Yet again. None of them had believed that she had cheated to enter the Tournament (not really; those that claimed so did so only for the sake of being nasty), she was a Hufflepuff after all, but there was a grudging exasperation that had been directed at her for her 'bloody amazing luck' that granted her the things everyone else wanted so badly. Those ruffled feathers had been soothed when those that griped about Heri's 'good fortune' realized that there was absolutely _nothing_ lucky about having to face a fire-breathing monster big enough to wrestle with the giant squid from the Black Lake.

Adulation pouring in again, Heri decided that the announcement of the Yule Ball couldn't have come at a worse time.

A ball. A ball she was contractually obligated to attend, and accompanied with a partner to boot. She had been looking forward to a winter holiday that she could finally spend at a home with people that loved her, but instead she had to stick around to got to a sodding school dance. It was only how used she was to reigning in her temper that kept her from screaming in outrage when Professor Sprout informed her.

With the Ball on their brains, it seemed to be the only thing anyone ever talked about now. Forget classes, it was all about dates and outfits. Being someone who worked her arse off for her top marks (though no one knew it), it grated on Heri's nerves that the bit of studying and tutoring she did in public was being blown off for such a trivial matter. She was no Hermione Granger, but if someone pestered her when she was trying to read _one more time . . _.

Heri had never known so many people to put their names down to stay at Hogwarts for the winter holiday; she always did before, of course, because the alternative was going back to Privet Drive, but she had always been very much in the minority before. This year, however, everyone in fourth year and above seemed to be staying, and they all were obsessed with the coming ball. While the girls were far more obvious about it — giggling and whispering in the corridors; shrieking with laughter as boys passed them; excitedly comparing notes on what they were going to wear — the boys were just as preoccupied; Heri did not miss the way their eyes lingered longer than usual on their female counterparts, calculating their chances.

During all this hoopla, fanboys had been trying their luck with her as well. In the time when Marcus had still attended Hogwarts, no groupie dared to approach her in such a way, fearing his rebuttal. He had never expressed any sort of returning romantic interest in her (much to her dissatisfaction), but it was generally accepted that in the same way Marcus' friends were his boys, Heri was his girl. By the rules of the animal kingdom, one did not approach another group's females unless they wanted to fight for them, and it was well known that Marcus Flint would wiped the floor with someone so thoroughly that the stone would be polished red with their guts. Now that Marcus was out of the picture, they'd started slavering like it was open season.

Lucian and Graham kept the baying hounds at a distance when she met up with them and their friends, but they just didn't have the same intimidating presence like Marcus. The former Slytherin had a fear-inspiring presence that kept people from even calling out to Heri when she was around him. Even though the Slytherin Quidditch team was all sorts of growlly and forbidding, Heri's admirers were regrowing enough of their backbones to brave the proverbial dragon's castle to reach the princess.

It was not that Heri was intimidated by their attentions, of course, it was just that she felt awful for the fact that if ever one of them managed to get through her crowd's barricade to reach her and actually ask her to the ball, she wouldn't have the heart to let them down by saying no. All that effort and courage only to get shot down? She wouldn't be able to handle the guilt. This lead to the next fact that if she ever said yes to any of them, she'd then inevitably have to say no to the rest of them. The lose-lose reality of the situation made her curse whoever it was that started the tradition of a Yule Ball.

On that day, Heri was blessed with an afternoon free of hanger-ons, so she was taking advantage of the situation to enjoy some time outside. Megan, Hannah, and Sally-Anne were caught up in their Muggle Studies assignment, but her usual three boys were with her, as were Luna and Ginny, so maybe they could play a game of three-on-three Quidditch or something. There had been a light snowfall the night before, so they could have a snowball fight as well.

As Heri was daydreaming about the fun to be had, they neared the entrance to the open-windowed walkway that led into the main courtyard. There, bunched beside a pillar, was a trio of Durmstrang boys being surrounded by a gaggle of chattering girls, girls Heri new very well to be Quidditch groupies. It was little surprise to note that Viktor Krum was one of those boys.

Heri saw the suppressed look of misery on Krum's face and winced in sympathy. The fangirls had somehow managed to circle around him and his friends, trapping them with no means of escape without them getting physical. She couldn't help but feel sorry for him; she had been in similar situations before her friends learned how to act as bodyguards.

"Poor buggers," Zacharias muttered, also noticing the troubled trio as the six of them got closer.

"What's so poor about them?" asked Ernie, a sceptical look on his face. "Surrounded by good-looking girls that would jump at the chance to date them; it's bloody lucky if you ask me."

"Well . . ." Wayne said cautiously, giving the mixed crowd a dubious look. "The girls aren't _really_ interested in them, right? It's 'cause Krum's famous and all."

"I don't need you backing me up, Hopkins," Zacharias grimaced. He desisted when Heri gave him a look as she gave Wayne a hug when he looked down dejectedly. "Whatever. Hopkins is right; those slags are just starstruck 'cause Krum's a celebrity, and being hounded by status-hungry groupies is never fun."

"And how would _you_ know they only like him because he's famous?" Ginny retorted, cheeks a bit pink as she crossed her arms. She seemed to be taking his words personally.

The corner of Zacharias' lips quirked up in a reluctant smirk of amusement. As if the son of a goddess of fame and notoriety wouldn't know such thing.

Those in the know shared a look.

"Trust me," Zacharias said, snorting. "I know."

They got to the walkway and began climbing over the low wall of the opened windows to get to the snow-covered lawn. Heri was in the middle of swinging her legs over when she felt a tug at her sleeve. She looked over to see Luna holding up a red cloth with intricate decoration at the edges.

"That boy over there must have dropped it," Luna said, pointing at the huddled Durmstrang lads.

As Luna had said, Heri could see that one of the Durmstrang boys was missing the cloth the others had tied around the head of their staves. The staff looked rather naked without it, but none of the boys had realised it was missing yet because of how distracted they were.

"Oh," Heri said, taking the decorated cloth. "We should go return it to him. It looks like it's a part of his uniform."

"Are you two coming?" Zacharias called, an irritated expression on his face.

The other four were already climbing on their brooms and tossing around snow.

"Just a moment!" Heri called back. She turned to Luna, "Come with me?"

"It's better if I don't," Luna replied, dropping herself down on the white ground. "My presence would excite the Grutenhogs that feed off of them and hinder your efforts in helping. Oh, but you should know that Cho Chang has been flirting with Cedric Diggory lately, and she plans on getting him to ask her to the Yule Ball later this afternoon."

"Erm, _why_ do I need to know that?" asked Heri, not understanding her friend's train of thought.

"It'll help," was all Luna said. She then turned and ambled off toward Ginny.

Shaking her head, Heri started toward the captured Durmstrang boys.

* * *

**I**n his years of being friends with Viktor Krum, Ivan Volkov had witnessed many instances of fans trying to get at Viktor. Even before his international stardom borne from his Quidditch career, Viktor drew in admirers with his charmingly awkward mannerisms, and all of those followers tried their hand at getting his attention. From thrown lingerie and forceful sex-appeal to painted faces and over-enthusiasm, Ivan had been certain that he had seen everything there was to see from starstruck fans. Even with the unusual persistence of the Hogwarts girls, their hounding wasn't anything new.

What was a bit different was the fact that the Hogwarts fangirls had managed to corner not just Viktor, but Ivan and their other friend, Martin Helstrøm, as well. None of them were what anyone would call small men, all of them participating in the school-sanctioned hand-to-hand combat lessons, but the gaggle of giggling girls had somehow manoeuvred them into a position where they had no option of escape unless they wanted to punch a girl out of the way. Ivan had heard tales about Hogwarts having a House that encouraged cunning and craftiness, but he hadn't expected to be taken in so easily.

Ivan drew in a fortifying breath at the reality of their capture when —

"Excuse me if you please."

— a voice rang out over the jabbering of the girls pawing at them.

Standing beyond the girls circling them, a bit to the side of the pillar they had been herded against, was yet another girl, a little thing that looked like a good wind would knock her over. She looked vaguely familiar, but the only thing that mattered to Ivan at the moment was that she didn't look fanatical like the rest did. In fact, in the face of how she drew the attention away from Viktor who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Ivan could argue that she looked like one of God's own angels coming to their rescue.

A chorus of excited greetings rang out. A handful of the girls at the back of the huddle surrounding the troubled four abandoned their positions to crowd around the new girl instead. The girl bobbed in a small curtsy, prompting the others to return the gesture.

"Oh! Heri!" the lead fangirl cried, detaching her claws from Viktor's arm. Wonders upon wonders, she actually stepped away from the Quidditch star and approached this 'Heri'. Curiously enough, the starstruck expression on her face didn't go away. "How _are _you? It's so rare to see you alone!"

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked another fangirl, talking quickly. She actually nudged the first one out of the way. "Lavender told me that Parvati told _her _that Leanne said that you lot would be working on the Charms project until dinner!"

The Heri girl smiled disarmingly.

"Yes, we were, but we finished a lot earlier than we expected, so we figured some fresh air would do us good."

"Are you going to play Quidditch then?" fangirl No. 1 asked, shoving No. 2 back.

"We might," the Heri girl replied amicably. "We don't have any equipment, but we could charm some snowballs to act as Bludgers. Of course, I'll have to convince Zacharias that it was his idea or else he'll gripe about it for the rest of the day if his team loses."

There was a round of giggling.

"Anyway," the Heri girl said, "Sorry to bother you lot—"

"You could never be a bother, Heri!" a girl called out to vehement agreement.

The Heri girl smiled indulgently.

"You're too sweet. Still, I found this cloth a moment ago and I figured this gentleman over here would want it back." She gave another little curtsy as she addressed the three of them.

In Miss Heri's hand was one of the sashes that all Durmstrang students were required to tie around their staves, being the distinguishing mark of what year a student was in. The entire delegation that came to Hogwarts were seventh-year students, and so all of them were adorned with red. A quick check of their staves revealed that it was Martin that had lost his sash.

Martin retrieved his sash from the girl with an awkward mutter of gratitude. He spoke the least amount of English among them and it made him shy.

"You're welcome," Miss Heri said, blinking up at Martin sweetly. She turned back to the fangirls, "Well, I better go before Ern— Oh!" She stood up straighter as comprehension adorned her face. "I just remembered! Cho Chang intends to convince Cedric to ask her to the Ball!"

"What!" squawked fangirl No. 1 and 2 at the same time.

The other girls murmured unhappily amongst themselves.

Miss Heri nodded earnestly.

"I was told she's been scoping him out lately. She plans to make her move this afternoon!"

"Not on my watch she won't," growled the one that had been clinging to Viktor like a limpet. "Where is she?"

"I would assume the Charms Courtyard since that's where Cedric and his friends usually hang out."

Impossibly, the herd of shrieking harpies vacated the premises immediately, apparently hell-bent on preventing the injustice that was the Chang girl securing Diggory as a date. They didn't even look back.

Miss Potter stood quietly with them as they watched on in relieved disbelief as their tormentors left them behind. She watched the crowd go with a mild, vaguely interested look on her face.

When the fangirls were gone, Miss Heri turned back to them with what was unmistakably a knowing smirk on her face. She tilted her head in amused acknowledgement and turned to go.

"You're welcome."

For the first time since the announcement of the Yule Ball, Ivan felt an inkling of interest instead of dread. Judging by the wondering look on Viktor's face, he wasn't alone in his fascination.

* * *

**L**ater that evening, Heri would be told from a swoony Myrtle about what Cedric Diggory was getting up to in the Prefect's Bathroom. While initially appalled that Myrtle spying on people in the bath and wanted to tell Heri the details, Heri would grudgingly admit that such a perversion was to her benefit on that occasion. Instead of whatever X-rated shenanigans Myrtle had been hoping for, Cedric had taken the Golden Egg in the water with him and discovered that the Second Task would involve the merfolk in the Black Lake.

Heri decided that she would _not_ be telling Cedric how she came across the knowledge of the Second Task. In fact, she would be taking this secret to the grave.

* * *

**I**n the following week, there was a noticeable increase of interest from the Durmstrang boys when it came to Hogwarts girls. Well, one girl in particular. However, try as they might, they never again encountered the strange girl that had saved Viktor Krum from his adoring admirers. In the most maddening turn of events, they would occasionally catch a glimpse of her at a distance, but she would invariably disappear again. One lucky fellow had been in earshot of her, hearing her talking with some friends, but when he turned the corner of the corridor they entered just before he reached them, they were gone.

In short, it was bewildering and exasperating.

Unaware of the man-hunt out for her, Heri spent her time not in classes either in the common room or in Myrtle's loo. She took care to use the secret passage ways Fred and George had shown her as well as the Marauder's Map to avoid run-ins. She found the lack of contact with the rest of the student body to be a good way to avoid the fanboys that were sniffing at her skirts.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid's cabin, while the Durmstrang ship's portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings, and only that Delacour chit seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

"It eez too 'eavy, all zis 'Ogwarts food," she was heard saying grumpily one evening. "I will not fit into my dress robes!"

"Oooh, there's a tragedy!" Hannah had snapped as Fleur trounced off with her flock of uppity birds in tow. "She really thinks a lot of herself, that one, doesn't she?"

On that day, Heri was holding court in the Transfiguration Courtyard. Officially, it was an inter-House, cross-year study session that she had been leading since her first year, but there was no denying that the other students approached her in supplication for whatever it was that they wanted from her, from help with their assignments to personal advice. Most of the older years were too prideful to ask for help from their juniors, but Heri received obeisance from the first-years up to a handful of fifth-years.

Heri was currently perched on a branch of a low-hanging weeping willow with other outdoorsy types hanging in the tree with her. The tree was set in the middle of a circle of wooden benches filled with students that needed further instruction on Transfiguration. They had been in the middle of a demonstration when the sound of a trumpet rang out. All over the courtyard students stopped what they were doing and turned toward the out-of-place sound.

Luna Lovegood stood in front of what looked like a quarter of the delegation from Durmstrang. Pressed to her lips was the aforementioned trumpet, and when the attention shifted to her, she played another quick riff, before lowering the instrument and gesturing grandly behind her and the stone-faced foreign boys.

"At the leisure of Her Most Eminent and Serene Highness, the frabjous Princess Who Lived," Luna announced gravely, causing laughter and eye-rolls, "I present the young men of Durmstrang to petition the companionship of a particular maiden. What say you, courtiers?"

The students snickers and cat-called, excited for a scene. All of them had noted that Viktor Krum was among the group.

Luna bowed grandly in Heri's direction.

"By your leave, what say you, Your Highness?"

Half hidden in the shade of the tree, it was easy for Heri to cover her grin. Leave it to Luna to liven up the occasion with absurdity. She leaned over to Megan and whispered in her ear. If they were going to follow through with this game, they might as well play it up.

Megan stepped down from table at Heri's knees she had been sitting at and sauntered forward a few steps, her nose raised imperiously. She fell out of character to giggle before raising her nose again and putting her hands on her hips.

In her loud voice, Megan said, "M'lady is of a good humour and gives leave for these petitioners to proceed."

A tall, burly young man stepped forward. Heri recognised him as one of the boys she had saved from the fangirls. It was obvious to her that he was uncertain if the played up formality was in earnest or not, but he compromised with a semi-formal bow. As he straightened, he scanned the crowd.

"My name is Ivan Volkov," the young man began, "Last veek, ve met a charming young lady in the corridors. Ve did not haff much time to talk to her as she vas expected else-vare, but ve vould like the chance to talk to her again. Ve haff looked, but she keeps disappearing."

"And why do— erm, why dost thou—?"

Zacharias kicked at Megan's heel, cutting her off and making her yelp.

"English is his second language," Zacharias said, giving Megan a condescending look. "Don't be rude by using an out-dated form he wouldn't be familiar with."

Megan scowled.

"_You're_ one to talk about being rude! Way to ruin the game, Smith!" She turned back to Volkov and crossed her arms with a huff. "_Sorry_. So you want our help or something?"

The older boy nodded slowly.

"Miss Lovegood said she vould be here today."

As the surrounding students looked around at each other for a clue of who it was the Durmstrang boys were looking for, Heri only cocked her head to the side. One of her lambs had caught the collective attention of the Durmstrang students? This was causing even more excitement than earlier that week when a couple of girls came squealing about being asked to the ball by some of them.

"Well, where is she?" asked Megan expectantly.

The young men almost fidgeted, glancing about.

Volkov turned to Luna who was sat on the grass, making a flower chain.

"Ve do not see her, Miss Lovegood," he said.

"She will need that encouragement I mentioned," Luna replied, not looking up from her flowers.

At that, Krum was pushed forward to stand beside Volkov, looking as grim as a plague doctor. Having seen this expression on the surly young man many times before, Heri concluded this was his ill-at-ease expression.

Volkov pat Krum companionably on the shoulder. "Viktor is the one who is required to bring a partner to the ball, so he vill be doing the asking."

Looking like he was walking to the guillotine, Krum rubbed the knuckles of one hand. Taking a breath, he dropped to one knee and lifted a fist. On the exhale, he drove the first into the ground, impacting the earth with a loud _BANG, _and creating a crater as large as if a Bludger had landed.

Gasps and exclamations sounded, the Hogwarts students flabbergasted at the display.

Krum stood once more and removed a ring from his finger.

"I vas told that a show of strength vould be better than flowers," Krum said, his voice low and rumbling. He scanned the gaping crowd for the face he was looking for. "Miss Lovegood suggested something literally earth-shattering. Vill you now attend the ball vith me, Miss Heri?"

There was a beat of shocked silence.

* * *

**V**iktor was wondering what the hell he was doing. They had been searching for that usual girl for so long that he had forgotten that he didn't actually know anything about her beyond the fact that she seemed to be a nice girl that didn't care about his fame. Such traits were important of course, but he now felt they were weak reasons to put himself out in such a way. She hung around the crowd that pawed at the Girl Who Lived; that wasn't exactly a recommendation for her character.

He was ready to call it off and run off to ask that brainy girl from the library when he heard the giggling. It wasn't the simpering noise he was used to dreading though, but a sound of genuine if girlish amusement.

Out from the tree the female Hogwarts champion was enthroned in came the girl they had been looking for, Miss Heri. Cheeks lightly flushed, she was covering her giggles with one hand as she tilted her head at him in acknowledgement.

Viktor breathed a sigh of relief and would have stepped forward if it wasn't for the Lovegood girl bouncing up to Miss Heri and placing a flower crown on her head.

"Your Highness," Lovegood said, giving an exaggerated curtsy.

Miss Heri snorted delicately and batted at the other girl's shoulder.

"Really, Luna," she said. "All this fuss when you could have just told me they were asking about me! I don't think Mr. Krum is one for public displays, you know."

That was when it hit Viktor, why she had looked so familiar. It was because he had seen her before the night of the Champion Selection and at the First Task; Miss Heri was Heri Potter.

He groaned and face-palmed. Honestly, how had he missed that? How had any of them missed that? It wasn't as if she was wearing a disguise! Well, to be fair, she was far from the hard-faced Amazonian he had seen before, what with a gentle smile, fluttery fringe hiding her scar, and a warm atmosphere around her. It was boggling to realise that this was the girl that went head-to-head against government officials and dive-bombed a dragon.

He peered at her through the gap of his fingers.

"I did not know you vere Heri _Potter._"

A look of surprise lit her face, then a bright, pleased look.

"You're funny," she laughed, taking another step toward him. "I don't think I've ever met a person that was interested in 'just Heri'."

When she was in arm reach of him, she held her hand out to him. Without thinking, Viktor caught the hand a placed kiss on the back of it, feeling his cheeks heat when the cat-calls started up.

"No one's gone through so much effort to impress me before either," Miss Heri said, peering up at him with a fond tilt of her lips. Despite himself, he felt his breath catch and his heart-rate pick up. "And I was _very _impressed by the crater you made. I think I'll accept your invitation."

Feeling victorious despite his awkwardness, Viktor grinned. His smile became a smirk when he noted that the young men of Hogwarts that were around looked none too pleased with him, some glaring outright.

Let them be jealous, he thought to himself. They weren't the ones that sent out search-parties to find her on only a description of her looks and a name. They weren't the ones that had to figure out how to reach the standard required to convince her that her own friend acknowledged to be lofty. Hell, they didn't even have the stones to ask her themselves even though they had ample opportunity to do so as people she was familiar with. If they had a problem with Viktor being the one to take her to the Yule Ball, they could man up and fight him for her.

Later — in years to come, after taking a Slashing Curse for her and having his arm reattached by the same girl — when Viktor thought back to this moment, he would realise that there had never been any doubt that he would fight for Heri Potter; whether for her attention or against her enemies, he had been doing so from the very beginning.

* * *

_Dear Remus,_

_I normally direct these letters to Sirius since I know you two read my letters together anyway, but I think it's better if the news in this one is filtered by you first before it gets to Sirius. Somehow, I don't think he'll take it gracefully either way._

_So, I have a date to the Yule Ball, and before you send me back a note saying I'm too young to start dating already, know that it's mandatory that I have a partner for the ball because I'm one of the champions. Professor Sprout said something about setting a good example. Now, I normally would be as put out as you undoubtedly are at the moment, but I've been invited by a boy that I think might make the chore at least a little fun._

_The Durmstrang champion, Viktor Krum, asked me to go with him. It was pretty unexpected, but he's a decent sort and we'll both be saved from your respective screaming fans by being each other's shields. It's a pretty mutually-beneficial set up. And he's nice. You know, he asked me out without knowing that I'm Heri Potter; he was completely gobsmacked when he found out._

_So, as I'm asking nicely, please inform Sirius in the gentlest way possible. I don't put it past him to come down to the school to try to scare Viktor off. It's obligatory! Please don't make me get in trouble with the professors._

_See you at the next Task!_

_Heri_

_P.S. Please send my cream-coloured dress-robes with the creeping vines design along the hems and bodice. I forgot to pack it and I don't want to go shopping for something else to wear when those are perfectly serviceable._

* * *

**T**ranselementation was simple in theory but surprisingly complicated in practice. An increase in size of the base subject added on to this difficulty. There was a reason why the first thing first-years learned was to turn a matchstick into a needle, and why it was among the assignments that took the longest for the inexperienced to complete. While not overburdened by a size factor, the match to needle transformation required the conversion of cellulose, hemicelluloses, lignin, and extractives into iron, multiple molecular compounds into a single base metal. It wasn't exactly Alchemy, but for a child still young enough for accidental magic — which tended to be charmwork — it was like trying to put on a shoe that was too small and made for the other foot.

Heri did not have this trouble with Transfiguration. If there was one class she could claim that she breezed through with nary an effort as everyone believed she did in all subjects, it was Transfiguration. If Professor McGonagall's fond words on the matter were to be believed, she had inherited the talent from her father. This was why she had decided to forgo jumping in the Black Lake in the freezing February chill.

The stands that had been circling the dragon enclosure during the First Task were now all placed along one side of the shore of the Black Lake. Once again, they were _packed_ with people. Heri wondered what kind of show these people were expecting considering the Task would be set underwater.

By the time Heri got there, the three other champions were milling about. The three headmasters were all seated already, as was Mr. Bagman, but instead of Mr. Crouch, Percy Weasley was seated there.

"Percy?" Heri said, surprised. She trotted up to where the red-headed young man was seated. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I've been promoted!" Percy said brightly, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as supreme ruler of the universe. "I'm now Mr. Crouch's personal assistant, and I'm here representing him."

Heri blinked and cried, "I didn't know you got a position in the Department of International Magical Cooperation!" She gave Percy a bright smile. "Suppose that's what I get for not visiting last summer. Congratulations! And you're already a personal assistant? You work _fast._"

Percy beamed and would have said more if it wasn't for Bagman calling out, "All champions to the starting line, please!"

Heri waved to her friend and made her way to the ribbon stretched out across the sand that served as a starting line. Bagman placed them at ten feet intervals from each other, and they all began their preparations.

Delacour took off her robes to reveal a periwinkle one-piece swimsuit, which earned her some rude catcalls from the stands that she haughtily ignored. Cedric stepped out of his outer robes in a pair of trunks and a tank-top, shivering visibly and rubbed warmth into his arms. Viktor was already standing in nothing more than a pair of trunks and was glaring at the Lake as if it was some beast to be tackled. In stark contrast, Heri merely removed her boots and stockings, leaving on her winter uniform — thick skirts and heavy cloak all — and her hair accessories. The other gave her funny looks, but she had no plans of getting in that icy lake.

Bagman returned to the judges' table, pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, and said, "_Sonorus!_"

His voice boomed out across the dark water toward the stands.

"Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One . . . two . . . _three!_"

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause.

Paying no mind to the other champions in their spellwork and advance to the water, Heri padded forward to the edge and removed her Transfiguration wand — made from mahogany — from her hair. She now held a wand in each hand. With a steadying breath, she pointed both foci at the water in front of her.

Transfiguring water was a complicated task, as was any classical element, especially if one did not to intend to transfigure all of the water. A simple but overlooked solution was to remove the portion you wanted to transfigure. With a word and a flick of her holly wand, a glob of water at her feet sprang out of the lake like a breaching dolphin, and was transformed by the mahogany wand into a slab of stone as it landed. Stepping onto the platform she had made for herself, Heri created other slab with two more flicks.

Toss, transform, toss, transform. Heri did not falter in her steps as her path literally rose to meet her as she quickly strode out toward where she knew the merfolk village was. She had activated her raptor vision as the other champions had jumped in the water and could now see far enough down to discern the hazy outline of the underwater settlement.

When she was directly above the village, Heri bent down to tap on the stone and turned it into glass, letting her see deeper into the murky depths. The visibility was as poor as one would expect when hearing the name 'Black Lake', but the light-magnifying effect of the glass made it possible for Heri to get a good look of the hostages. There was Cho Chang, the girl Cedric really did end up asking to the Yule Ball; a little blonde girl that looked a lot like Delacour; Volkov, Viktor's friend; and none other than Sirius Black himself. All four of them appeared to be under a sleeping or stasis spell with they way they didn't react at all to being tied up underwater.

Considering she was the only one with a connection to Sirius, Heri was pretty sure that he was her hostage.

Now here was the tricky part. She had to get Sirius up, preferably without having to go down herself.

With her wands pointed down, she placed the back of her hands together in front of her. She then sharply moved them apart and began twirl her wrists in an inward motion. The thick sheet of glass beneath her shuddered as a hole formed in the middle, growing bigger the longer Heri swirled her wands.

She stepped back onto the remaining stone when there was more hole than glass platform. The hole was now big enough to fit two Siriuses. Heri considered dropping a weighted hook and reeling him up like a fish, but then Auntie Andromeda would scold her for not giving the Head of the House of Black the proper amount of respect in public.

Wands once again at the ready, Heri directed the rim of the hole to surge downward, her lips mouthing incantations to turn the water the glass cut through into more glass, fortifying the integrity of the present glass and giving Heri more to work with. The marine creatures darted back from the burrowing glass, leaving empty water to occupy the space in the middle of the circle.

By the time the cylinder of glass reached just above the heads of the hostages, Heri was panting as if she had just run a marathon. For all her natural talent and skill in the art, she was no Transfiguration Master. She paused to catch her breath and survey the area.

Cedric and Viktor were about half of the way back, not making nearly as good of time as Heri since they had no idea where the merfolk village was and were being restricted by the poor visibility. She couldn't spot Delacour, so the blonde was likely somewhere under Heri's stone walkway.

Breathing stabilised, Heri got back to work. She tossed up bigger blob of water than before, but this time, instead of turning it to stone, she had it arch around the platform she was standing on and the glass cylinder, making a glass dome. She fortified it with two more globs before she made it airtight.

Now effectively a bowl of air upturned on water, Heri detached her impromptu submarine from her stone walkway and directed it to sink, shortening the glass cylinder as she went so she didn't drive glass into any of the hostages. For the sake of speed, she didn't allow herself to admire the scenery; there was a limited supply of air, and while it wouldn't run out for a good twenty more minutes even with two people, she didn't want to run the risk.

A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae loomed out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at the dark windows, Heri saw faces. The merfolk had greyish skin and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at Heri as she came dropping down; one or two of them emerged from their caves to watch her better, their powerful, silver fish tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands.

There were gardens of weed around some of them, and she even saw a pet grindylow tied to a stake outside one door. Merfolk were emerging on all sides now, watching her eagerly, pointing at the strange sight she must have made.

Now just inches above Sirius, Heri removed her gloves and rolled up her sleeves. She tuck the mahogany wand back into its place for a moment before she plunged her holly wand into the water, aiming a cutting hex at the ropes binding Sirius. When he was free from the ropes, Heri heaved him up to sprawl beside her.

At once, they were shooting back up.

Sirius expelled a great spout of water and turned to Harry. He said, "Wet, this, isn't it?" before the he blinked in bewilderment at Heri's fabulous air pocket.

"Merlin's beard," Sirius breathed, watching in awe as they blurred past fish and other creatures. "You don't do things by half, do you?'

Heri was pulling her gloves back on. She shrugged.

"One has to be creative when one wants to retrieve something from a lake without getting wet." When her sleeves were rolled back down, she hit him with a drying charm, hoping it would at least lessen his shivering.

They returned to shore well within the time limit, much to the delight of the crowd and irritation of two judges in particular. Heri would have felt bad for ruining the chances for their schools to win the Tournament if she didn't dislike them so much.

Madam Pomfrey met them at the edge of Heri's extended pier. She gave Heri a grudgingly approving look for being perfectly dry and unruffled before she bustled Sirius off for a blanket and a warm drink.

"Absolutely ridiculous," the matron muttered. "First death by incineration, now by hypothermia? At least you, Miss Potter, had enough sense to kept yourself out of that freezing water! I suppose next they'll have an underground maze to see if you'll die by being buried alive!"

Later, after all the champions were back on land and the scoring came in, after it was declared that Heri and Cedric were tied for lead with Viktor just a few points behind them, Sirius asked her why she went through so much trouble to use transfigurations instead of diving in like the other champions.

Reluctantly, Heri admitted, "Ah, well . . . I—I don't know how to swim . . ."

* * *

**L**ater that afternoon, when about to go for a walk with Viktor, Heri combed through her fringe with her fingers. She discovered that she had a beetle in her hair, likely one from the lake that got caught.

"Ew," Heri grimaced. She hated bugs.

Without thought, Heri crushed the beetle against a tree, smearing its guts across the bark to make sure it was dead. She shuddered and cleaned her hand with a Scouring Charm_._

Disgusting insects dealt with, Heri walked off without a second thought.

On a completely unrelated note, Rita Skeeter went missing. She would be reported missing a few days later by her photographer, but no traces could be found. Inexplicably, she had just disappeared.

* * *

**A**s exams approached, the other demigods actually began to wonder if they had completely missed the mark with thinking that Heri's parent was a war deity, and that she was actually an offspring of a knowledge-based god. Or maybe a strategy-based warrior god. It could be Athena or Minerva, the Greek goddess of scholars and warcraft and her Roman aspect; there was Brigid, a Celtic triple goddess of a similar dominion as Athena; or maybe it was Týr, the Norse god of courage and strategy. Really, did Heri have to make it harder for them by having attributes that could go so many different ways?

Classes gained a sense of urgency as students realised they had been slacking in their academic attentions with the excitement of the Tournament hanging around the castle. The teachers endeavoured to resolved this with the cramming that always happened at this time of the year. With the emphasis on lessons on top of her bulked up training for the Tasks, Heri was actually starting to get a bit tired from it. With an increase in unsettling dreams, she took to sipping at an Invigoration Draught through-out her days to keep the edge off.

At the moment, she was in Divination. It was particularly hot that day and the dimly lit classroom was swelteringly so. The fumes from the perfumed fire were heavier than ever and it made Heri's head swim even as she sat at a chair next to one of the curtained windows. She would have used a Cooling Charm on herself, but she didn't have the time before class started.

While Professor Trelawney was looking the other way, disentangling her shawl from a lamp, Heri opened it an inch or so and settled back in her chintz armchair, so that a soft breeze played across her face. It was extremely comfortable.

"My dears," said Professor Trelawney, sitting down in her winged armchair in front of the class and peering around at them all, "we have almost finished our work on planetary divination. Today, however, will be an excellent opportunity to examine the effects of Mars, for he is placed most interestingly at the present time. If you will all look this way, I will dim the lights. . . ."

She waved her wand and the lamps went out. The fire was the only source of light now. Professor Trelawney bent down and lifted, from under her chair, a miniature model of the solar system, contained within a glass dome. It was a beautiful thing; each of the moons glimmered in place around the nine planets and the fiery sun, all of them hanging in thin air beneath the glass.

Heri watched idly as Professor Trelawney began to point out the fascinating angle Mars was making to Neptune. The heavily perfumed fumes washed over her, and the breeze from the window played across her face. She could hear the wind whistling though turrets. Her eyelids began to droop . . .

She was flying, and at an incredible speed, landmarks and lakes blurring as she streaked by. Clouds drifted in and out of her periphery. Crisp wind filled her lungs and a swelling glee bloomed in her belly. She was free!

Elation making her giddy, she set her sights higher, rocketing up into the stratosphere.

Distantly, she hear a voice calling out behind her. "Do not fly too high!"

Suddenly, she was at sea, overlooking the water from the side of a ship.

Shouting caught her attention, and she turned to see a lion terrorising rough-looking sailors, snarling and chasing them. Oddly enough, the ship was overrun with vines and vegetation that was growing as she looked on. Soon enough, several men fell over the edge into the water. With a roar from the lion, the men turned into dolphins upon impact.

She made to run in the other direction as the lion bounded closer to where she was standing, but then—

She was flying again, this time riding on the back of a giant eagle owl, soaring through the clear blue sky toward an old, ivy covered house set high on a hillside. Lower and lower they flew, the wind blowing pleasantly in Heri's face, until they reached a dark and broken window in the upper story of the house and entered. Now they were flying along a gloomy passageway, to a room at the very end . . . through the door they went, into a dark room whose windows were boarded up . . .

Heri was suddenly on her own two feet . . . she was watching, now, as the owl fluttered across the room, into a chair with its back to her. . . . There were two dark shapes on the floor beside the chair . . . both of them were stirring . . .

One was a huge snake . . . it was oddly familiar . . . the other was a man . . . a wiry, tall man, with sharp features and a tears streaking down his face . . . he was wheezing and sobbing on the hearth rug . . .

"You are in luck," said a cold, high-pitched voice from the depths of the chair in which the owl — four legs; was that Hedwig? — had landed. "You are very fortunate that this vessel was created in time. Your blunder has not ruined everything."

"My Lord!" gasped the man on the floor. "My Lord, I am . . . I am so pleased . . . and so sorry. . . ."

The snake hissed. Heri could see its tongue fluttering.

"Now," said the cold voice. Voldemort. "Perhaps one more little reminder why I will not tolerate another blunder from you . . ."

"My Lord . . . I beg you . . ."

The tip of a wand emerged from around the back of the chair.

"_Crucio!_"

There was a scream, a scream as though every nerve in that person's body were on fire. The screaming filled Heri's ears as the scar on her forehead seared with pain; she was yelling too. . . Voldemort would hear her, would know she was there —!

"Heri! _Heri!_"

Heri opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor of Professor Trelawney's room with her hands over her face. Her scar was burning so badly that her eyes were watering. The pain had been real. The whole class was standing around her, and Professor Trelawney was kneeling next to her.

"Are you all right?" said Sally-Anne, looking thoroughly shaken.

"Of course she isn't!" said Professor Trelawney, looking thoroughly excited. Her great eyes magnified by her glasses loomed over Her, gazing at her. "What was it, Potter? A premonition? An apparition? What did you see?"

"I . . . I don't . . ." Heri stammered. She sat up. She could feel himself shaking. She couldn't stop herself from looking around, into the shadows behind her; Voldemort's voice had sounded so close . . .

"You were clutching your scar!" said Professor Trelawney. "You were thrashing on the floor, clutching your scar! My dear, you were undoubtedly stimulated by the extraordinary clairvoyant vibrations of my room!"

Heri shuddered and clutched at her forehead. "If that's what happened, professor, maybe I need to get some fresh air. That was _horrible._"

"If you leave now, you may lose the opportunity to see further—!"

"Please, professor!" said Parvati Patil, her eyes watery. "We should at least get her something for her headache! My mother gets awful migraines and she can barely think without some sort of pain relief."

"Of course, of course," replied the professor. "Let's get you up, dear."

Heri was helped back into her seat. As Professor Trelawney went to fetch a Headache Relief from her cupboard, the window was thrown open wider and someone began fanning her with a handkerchief.

"Now, Miss Potter," said the professor when she returned. She handed Heri the potion. "Let's discuss your vision."

Heri chugged the potion and sighed as the throbbing in her scar lessened immediately.

"Honestly, professor, I don't know what to make of it. First I was flying above the clouds, headed towards the sun; then I was standing on a ship with a lion that was attacking people and turning them into dolphins; and then I watched as someone was put under the Cruciatus."

Heri was eventually given permission to leave early to visit the Hospital Wing. Since Professor Trelawney was convinced that the burning incense caused her visions, Heri resolved to wear her air-filtering scarf over her nose to Divination lessons from now on.

* * *

**H**eri was not having a good time of it. First there had been that bloody cop-out of a Third Task, then she was attacked by an acromantula far larger than what would have been allowed to live by the Forbidden Forest herd, and now she was tied to a gods be damned headstone in some sodding graveyard. And it wad fucking raining.

She couldn't think of any way to make this shitty day any shittier.

When Mr. Bagman had announced that there'd be a huge free-for-all in which they'd be set loose on a labyrinth to fight their way to the Triwizard Cup, Heri had been expecting something exciting like a battle royale in an underground cavern. Instead she got a hedge maze out on the Quidditch Pitch with some of Hagrid's pets to play with. What the fuck? That was it? A third year CoMC class with Hagrid was more dangerous!

She had been in there for a good half an hour without anything happening to her, just dead-ends. The only positive was that she hadn't run into any of the beasties Cedric was complaining about whenever they crossed paths, so she wasn't getting fatigued, and even then she would have been happier with something to kill instead of just wandering around like she was.

Heri was ready to just set fire to the hedge when something out of the ordinary finally happened.

There was a sphinx blocking the way. It had the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head and front torso, however, was that of a woman. She turned her long, almond-shaped eyes upon Heri as she approached.

She spoke in a deep, hoarse voice.

"You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me."

"So . . . so will you move, please?" Heri had asked, scrounging up some manners despite her dreadful mood.

The sphinx refused, telling Heri that she had to answer riddle if she wanted to get to the other side. She could either get the riddle correct and be allowed to pass, or get it wrong and have to fight the sphinx.

"_First think of the person who lives in disguise, _

_Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies. _

_Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend, _

_The middle of middle and end of the end? _

_And finally give me the sound often heard _

_During the search for a hard-to-find word. _

_Now string them together, and answer me this, _

_Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?"_

Heri gaped at her. God gods, did she look like she was in any position to answer a riddle that came in sonnet form? She wasn't taking an English Lit. class, she was in the middle of a sodding labyrinth!

Heri let the sphinx know that she was going with option three, not answering, by giving her cloak to the likely freezing bare-breasted desert creature and turning herself to mist to seep through the walls of the hedge. She was so done. It had been amusing to play fairly for the sake of sportsmanship, but she had her fill of the shitty maze and wanted out at once.

Of course, that was when the ruddy acromantula had to show up. Where in the nine circles of Dante's inferno had they been hiding that beast? It couldn't have been in the Forest because Magorian, Bane and Firenze's herd leader, would have ordered it killed on sight; it was nearly the size of Aragog and had no human sentimentality. She didn't know any spells that would work on acromantula exoskeleton, so she caught up its legs with her tendrils and stabbed it with the venomous end of her slingshot until it stopped moving.

If it was only a mildly crappy day, that would have been the point where Heri would reach the Triwizard Cup and finally be done with the blasted tournament. She was not at all surprised when it turned out it was going to be one of those _really_ shitty days, and she instead got portkeyed away from the school altogether.

She had obviously travelled miles — perhaps hundreds of miles — for even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. The black outline of a small church was visible beyond a large yew tree to her right. A hill rose above her to her left. Heri could just make out the outline of a fine old house on the hillside.

She had been caught unaware with a stunner while she had been reorienting herself after her landing. She had just regained consciousness to find that whoever it was had tied her up proper while she was out, binding her wrists behind her and her ankles together. Of course, she could free herself with her tendrils, but she wanted to know what the bloody hell was going on and who it was she would be beating the piss out of when she got free. She had a bleeding gouge in her right arm as well and wasn't happy in the least bit about it.

Cue over-the-top entrance and melodramatic monologue.

A twitchy blond that looked like he'd been shooting up the good stuff came striding out from the mist. (Yep, there was even mist.) With the murkiness of the rain and the haziness of the fog, it should have been an entrance worthy of Hamlet's Three Witches; instead, squirrel man came shimmying forward like his body had forgotten how to produce heat with a swaddled baby on his hip. He then proceeded to ramble about his evil plans — because of course there was an evil plan — but Heri had been through variations of this song and dance enough times that she could have spoken his monologue for him and likely done a better job.

'Blah, blah, I have you _now_, Heri Potter/Little Hero/Girl Who Lived. Blah-blah, blah, _no one_ can stop me, yada-yada. I will achieve the whatever that no one has before, and blah-di-blah, (preen) blahblahblah, all the whoever will do who-fucking-cares-what. (boast, strut) I/my master/my people/my ex-boyfriend that I just got back with will be the supreme imperial Sith master god-king of the intergalactic, multidimensional cosmos and bring forth _ten thousand_ years of death and darkness. WHOO! _DARKNESS!_ Can I get a _whoop-whoop_ up in here for evil?'

Honestly, Heri was watching his lips move, but she was too busy daydreaming about how she'd smash his face in for kidnapping her to pay attention to the words.

But there was one thing that Heri just didn't get, and she was so far beyond done that she didn't even try to censor herself any more.

"Why the bloody hell do you have a baby?"

The side-show freak stopped mid-sentence, his mouth opening and closing without any sound, as it he hadn't realised that Heri was capable of speech. Heri held back a sigh; while this was the most over-the-top capture she'd been involved in, the bad-guy could use some work.

He then flushed angrily, taking a threatening step toward her.

"You DARE—?"

"I SURE DO!" Heri hollered. "Do you expect me to take you seriously when you've got a bloody baby on your hip? Think again, Rumpelstiltskin!"

An angry hissing rent the air, sending a chill up Heri's spine. The bundle in Blondie's arms writhed.

"_Barty, silence the girl! And get on with it!_"

O-_kay_, then. Definitely not a baby.

'Barty' pried her mouth open and shoved a wad of cloth in before he set the bundled hell-spawn down and disappeared out of her view. Heri shrieked in outrage around the cloth, but it did a good job of muffling any noise she made. Oh, she was going to _hurt_ him!

He then came back within Heri's range of vision, pushing a stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It was full of what seemed to be water — Heri could hear it slopping around — and it was larger than any cauldron she had ever used; a great stone belly large enough for a full-grown man to sit in.

The hell? Was he going to try to cook and eat her?

The thing inside the bundle of robes on the ground was stirring more persistently, as though it was trying to free itself. The dead-man-walking was busying himself at the bottom of the cauldron with a wand. Suddenly there were crackling flames beneath it.

The liquid in the cauldron began to heat at an incredible rate. The surface began not only to bubble, but to send out fiery sparks, as though it were on fire. The steam was thickening, blurring the outline of Barty tending the fire.

The movements beneath the robes became more agitated. Heri heard the revolting voice of the not-baby again.

"_Hurry!_"

The surface of the water was alight with sparks now. It might have been encrusted with diamonds.

"It is ready, Master."

"_Now . . ._"

Barty pulled open the robes on the ground, revealing what was inside them, and Harry let out a yell that was strangled in the wad of material blocking her mouth.

It was as though someone had flipped over a stone and revealed the ugly and slimy parasitic creature that lived underneath — but _worse_, a hundred times worse. The thing Barty had been carrying had the rough shape of a crouched toddler, except there had never been anything less like a child. It was hairless and scaly-looking, a dark, raw, reddish black, as if a pregnant reptile had died and its belly had split open from decay to reveal its rotting stillborn fetus. The arms and legs were thin and feeble, and its face — no child alive ever had a face like that — flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes.

She knew those wicked eyes. Voldemort.

Abomination! Monstrosity! Heri couldn't help but writhe in utter disgust. It was an obscene crime against nature, the anathema of the sanctity of life, an unforgivable corruption of a child's body! She didn't want to think about what must have happened to the vessel for that horrible fiend to assume such a form.

Despite its gut-wrenching appearance and origins, Voldemort's vessel appeared to be entirely helpless; it raised its thin arms, put them around Barty's neck, and allowed Barty to lift it. How the man could even bear the touch was beyond her. Barty then carried it to the cauldron and lowered the creature in; there was a hiss, and it vanished below the surface; Heri heard its frail body hit the bottom with a soft thud.

Bart began adding other ingredients to the mangled-fetus soup, tossing in a dry femur bone and even his own hand as he chanted for the cauldron: "_Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son;/Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master;/Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will resurrect your foe._"

At 'blood of the enemy', Barty took out a phial of fresh blood from his robe and uncorked it.

Heri stiffened in realisation. Vision going red with fury, she shot a tendril out to swat the phial to the ground before Barty could pour it in. Like hell she was going to let any part of herself be used in some disgusting ritual, one to re-body Voldemort to boot! Seven more tendrils sprang out, undoing the ropes around her and pulling her up as the idiot cried out in horror at the loss of her blood.

"WHAT THE —?"

But Heri was already upon him, tendrils latching onto him and restraining his movement. He managed a Cutting Curse that sliced off an appendage that had gone for his wand hand, but that hand was soon captured as well, being broken in the process. She heaved him up and then brought him back down to smack his head against the ground, breaking his nose and knocking him unconscious.

Heri hissed at the pain of losing one of her tendrils, but beyond the shortened limb being sucked back in to be replaced with another, she suffered no setback from it. It stung in the way a banged and skinned knee would, but thankfully, they didn't have enough physicality to sustain greater damage.

She looked down to observed her severed limb. It was leaking a strange golden fluid and thrashing about in the way a lopped off octopus tentacle would, but already it was dissipating. As she watched, it disassembled into smoke and faded away.

Their use complete, the other tendril were pulled back in.

Eyes flicking up again, Heri snarled at the cauldron. She dug into her hip pouch that had miraculously not been taken from her and pulled out her slingshot. She was taking no chances when it came to this necromantic bullshit. She unsheathed the venomous end and held it at the ready.

Holding back her bile, Heri gave the enormous cauldron and a mighty shove, spilling the loathsome contents out onto the sodden mud. Bone, blood, dismembered hand, squalling homunculus and all came pouring out, staining the earth and fouling the air with vomit-inducing reek. This close to Voldemort, Heri's scar nearly split her head open with pain. Not letting herself hesitate, Heri lunged at the vessel, ignored the head-spitting pain from physical contact with Voldemort, and brought the venomous fang down on its head.

An ear-piercing screech like metal being scraped over broken glass filled the air. Heri ignored the wretched noise to jerk the fang to the side, shattering through fragile forehead bone and gouging up a slitted eyeball. Completely overtaken by her battle senses, Heri could only keep slashing away at the abomination, determined to end its revolting existence.

The damage finally became too much for the vessel to continue clinging onto life. As it became little more that a pile of mutilated flesh and bone fragments, Voldemort's wraithly spirit manifested in a cloudy wisp above it before it went . . . _poofing?_ . . . away, disappearing like mist before Heri could do anything else.

A silence fell over the graveyard.

With all known danger dealt with, Heri slumped into herself, breathing deeply to settle her nerves. She grabbed her right arm and cradled it to her chest. When her heart-rate picked up, the wound began bleeding more quickly. On top of adrenaline withdrawal, she was also light-headed from blood-loss. She had to get herself medical attention soon.

Now running on force of will, Heri heaved herself to her feet. There was no time to waste when there was a psycho still untied and you needed to stem your bleeding.

She staggered toward the unconscious Barty, summon'ing the rope when she saw it. In a thrice, she had the slobbering minion hog-tied and gagged. Not knowing what else to do with him, she left him where he had landed, hitting him with a Stunner so he wouldn't be waking up any time soon. She took his wand as well. If nothing prevented it, whatever wizarding authorities she'd eventually get it contact with would come take him away.

Heri was about to heal herself with a flesh-knitting spell, but stopped before the words left her mouth. She didn't know how to Apparate yet and didn't have one of Sirius' emergency portkeys on her, so she'd have to go down into the muggle village for help. It would look mightily suspicious if she claimed kidnapping and assault if she was covered in blood without a wound on her.

Heri sighed and instead did a partial variation, not healing the wound completely, but making it smaller so it wouldn't keep gushing the way it was. She tore a strip from Barty's robes to wrap it up to stem the flow even more.

Heri cast a Notice-me-not on her hip pouch before sticking the wands in her hair with her extras. Wearing a dirty, blood-covered, but obviously expensive school uniform, Heri hoped to pass as a rich man's daughter that had been abducted to be held for ransom by a violent kidnapper.

Shivering in the cool drizzle, Heri began her trudge toward civilisation. She considered going to the church, but she didn't know if anyone would be in at that time of day, and she wasn't really comfortable with the idea of entering a place of worship for a religion she didn't share. The big house on the hill was also a no-go since it was very obviously abandoned. Her only option seemed to be the village proper.

Coming down from the hill, she came to a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows. She followed the lane for a few minutes until she came to a wooden signpost that was sticking out of the brambles on the left-hand side of the road.

Pausing, Heri looked up at the sign's two arms. The one pointing back the way she had come read: Greater Hangleton, 5 miles. The arm pointing in the direction she was headed read: Little Hangleton, 1 mile. She was relieved that she was headed in the direction of the closer location.

She continued walking on with nothing to see but the hedgerows until the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside. She had a sudden, unexpected view of a whole valley laid out in front of her.

Her eyes widened when she realised that she had seen this hillside and valley before. Gods, this was where she had flown past during her vision in Divination!

(_Not far now, not far now, not far now . . ._)

The lane curved sharply to the right and when she rounded the corner, she nearly missed a gap in the hedge. Despite her self-imposed goals, she surveyed the path through the gap, a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those of the main road. Without knowing why, she turned onto this path, wandering further in.

The path was crooked, rocky, and potholed, sloping down-hill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees. With the greyness of the rainy sky, the old trees ahead cast deeper, darker shadows than it would have on a sunny day. Blinking rapidly and activating her raptor vision, Heri discerned a building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks.

It seemed to her a very strange location to choose for a house, or else an odd decision to leave the trees growing nearby, blocking all light and the view of the valley below. She idly wondered if it was inhabited; its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime. No, it was likely abandoned.

Still caught up in her odd compulsion, Heri approached the dilapidated shack.

As she came to the door, she noted that there was a dead snake nailed to it. She wrinkled her nose. Unnecessary cruelty combined with poor taste in decorating; it chafed at her sensibilities. She summon'd out the nails holding the poor creature in place and toed it off into the grass for a more peaceful resting place.

Stepping into the house, Heri could see it that it seemed to contain three tiny rooms. Two doors led off the main room, which served as kitchen and living room combined. She assumed the doors led to the bedrooms. Everything in sight was covered in several layers of dust. Parts of the roof had caved in, revealing ragged ceiling beams.

Now that she was inside, the strange urge that had struck her had doubled. As if being pulled forward by some invisible rope (_This way, this way, this way . . ._), Heri walked over to a section of rotting floorboards by the antiquated stove and knelt down.

She pried up a couple of boards, absently noting that they weren't nailed down at all. Underneath, sitting there as if it had been waiting for her to find it, was a small, hand-sized, golden chest. Unadorned and unlocked, it opened easily when she pulled the lid up. Sitting proudly within was a gold ring inlaid with a black stone.

Heri picked up the ring and inspected it. Honestly, it was a rather unassuming ring, no extra gems or anything. The stone wasn't even precious, just a smoothed over pebble one might find in a riverbed. The only thing that set it apart was the odd coat-of-arms it was engraved with. Well, she called it a coat-of-arms, but it actually looked more like a primitive sigil. How odd.

(_Touch it, touch it, touch it . . ._)

She reached a finger up to stroke the stone but flinched at an unexpected prick at that finger. Putting the ring down for a moment, Heri saw that there was a splinter in her forefinger, a rather thick one at that. She must have caught it when she was pulling up the floorboards.

With a swift pluck, the sliver of wood was removed. A bead of blood welled up at the pinprick, Heri watched idly as it swelled and eventually dripped off her finger.

A shriek of pain made Heri jolt. She immediately looked down at where the sound was coming from. Her drop of blood had landed on the ring, in the dead-centre of the stone. It now trembled where it sat, a moaning, keening sound of pain coming from it.

As she watched, a cracked formed down the centre, and her blood seeped into the crevice. This proved to be too much for the ring; a wisp of smoke, eerily reminiscent of Voldemort's wraith form, oozed out of the crack, roiling and bubbling. The wisp churned angrily for a moment before it finally dissipated.

Heri blinked rapidly, trying to understand what had just happened. She shook her head sharply to relieve the fuzziness and got back to her feet. This impromptu detour was already too weird. It was best if she got going.

Without thinking, she picked up the ring again and slipped it on her free ring-finger.

She was unconscious before she even hit the floor.

* * *

_**N**__inúš-didi . . . Ninúš-didi . . . Ninúš-didi . . ._

What?

_Kima parsi labiruti . . . sa belet ersetim ki'am parsusa . . ._

_Ninúš-didi . . ._

_My lady, can ye hear me . . . ?_

What was going on? She tried to open her eyes but couldn't tell if she achieved it.

_'Tis nearly time . . . your time cometh . . . Ninúš-didi . . . he doth awaken . . ._

Was someone there? Was someone talking to her? She tried to speak but she couldn't feel her mouth.

_Soo~oon . . . 'Twill all be over soon . . . But for now . . . your lady mother cometh . . ._

_Sleep now . . . the end is nigh . . . _

_Annu harrani sa alaktasa la tarat . . . Eli baltuti ima'idu mituti . . . _

_Ninúš-didi . . . sada emedu . . ._

* * *

**T**here was a very public uproar when the Girl Who Lived was abducted in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament in the Scottish Highlands only to be found the next day over three hundred miles away in the Midlands of England. The DMLE had been sent in along with a team of Obliviators when they learned via an owl from one of her friend's mother that she received a telephone call from the missing girl, explaining that she was in a muggle village and needed assistance. She was retrieved and returned to her frantic family and friends post-haste.

The unrest grew when it was discovered that the kidnapper was none other than Bartemius Crouch Jr., son of the Head of the Department of Magical Cooperation, former inmate of Azkaban, and previously presumed dead man. With a breakout from Azkaban coming to light two years in a row when there previously had never been even one, the suitability of Cornelius Fudge's administration came under questioning. In fact, a call rose up for the spring-cleaning of all ministry departments. The fact that it came to be known that Crouch Jr. had been trying to resurrect He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named lent fuel to the fire.

* * *

**AN: **All Hogwarts students are canon even if you're not familiar with their names. I consider all things from the books, movies, and video-games as canon and use the characters used in them instead of creating OCs. It's remarkably difficult to include Durmstrang students when literally none of them are named, but I hope my re-appropriation of names from other parts of canon wasn't jarring for anyone.


	7. Interlude

**AN: **Sorry for the wait, guys, but RL is kicking ass right now. I don't really want to talk about it, but the next official chapter won't be arriving until after the winter hols and New Year. Thank you for your patience.

* * *

**NOTE: **This chapter will be mostly a collection of letters. There will be implied gaps of time between each letter, and some will refer to other letters that I didn't include in writing.

*** **I read on the wikia that a more realistic conversion rate for the Galleon would be about **₤25 **instead of ₤5, so we'll be working with that rate instead. Makes that Triwizard Tournament prize money more tempting, doesn't it? Trust me when I say that the calculations for Heri purchasing things was a pain and a half! 29 Knuts (ȸ) to a Sickle (ʢ) and 17 Sickles to a Galleon (ʛ); work in a new conversion rate, and I ended up spending way too much time keeping it accurate.

* * *

Chapter Seven: Interlude

* * *

_**D**__ear Hagrid,_

_Letters from me will unfortunately be infrequent this summer. Sirius is packing us up to my family's home in Massachusetts, a state on the east coast of the United States, and a transatlantic flight isn't something I would inflict on an owl too frequently. Even a troublesome one like Hedwig. I will try to make my letters longer to compensate._

_Sirius reckons we could use some time away from England. That and Bramblewood Hall could use some tidying up. It's been left empty since before I was born, so I expect that it'll be a similar state that our London town-house was in before. Hopefully there'll be fewer pest infestations to clean out, as I've come to really hate doxies._

_We leave as soon as I send out this letter. We'll be taking a ship a lot like the one the Durmstrang students arrived in last year. I've heard it's a lot faster than a Muggle ship, and if that's true it'll be a good thing because Remus gets motion sickness. _

_I hope to see creatures native to the country when we get there, and I'll be sure to tell you all about them. Is there anything in particular you're curious about?_

_Love__**,**_

_Heri_

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_The colonies are a bit far away even if you are trying to get away from England. I know that the Ministry clean-up movement is holding you up as a symbol for the cause, but I didn't expect for it to get to you so quickly. Has it been awful then? Zach's dad is part of the evaluation committee sweeping through the Departments, he says that they're fanning the flames to build up public indignity so that the issue won't be pushed aside before they can finish. Zach's been calling it 'the Purge'._

_You're not staying over there, are you? The monsters are more widespread over there, and they aren't controlled the same as over here. The Americans are pretty 'live and let live' with their creature-related laws according to my dad. Be safe, okay? _

_– Ernie_

* * *

.

_**CADERWHAUL'S CROSS-STITCH**_

_Handicraft Emporium_

DATE: 6/15/1995 TIME: 1:27 PM

PAYMENT...ITEM

00ʛ, 04ʢ, 07ȸ..._1 Articulated Mannequin, 12 in..._

02ʛ, 15ʢ, 05ȸ..._1 Adjustable Body Form, 5 ft..._

00ʛ, 14ʢ, 19ȸ..._1 Saget's 62 Pastels Assorted Chalk..._

00ʛ, 01ʢ, 10ȸ..._1 Bluebell's 40 Spools Assorted Thread Set..._

00ʛ, 12ʢ, 06ȸ..._1 Brambleberry's Assorted Color Yarn Basket..._

00ʛ, 10ʢ, 02ȸ..._1 Tilinksy's 150-Pack Embroidery Floss..._

01ʛ, 09ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Miss Honey's Expanded-space Sewing Kit..._

02ʛ, 11ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Miss Honey's Resizeable Sewing Machine..._

00ʛ, 04ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Augustine's 800pcs Pearl-head Pins..._

00ʛ, 04ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Cyan Selkie's Bucket O' Buttons™, 16 Oz..._

00ʛ, 12ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Blue w/ White Polka Dots Cotton, 4 yd..._

00ʛ, 12ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 Pink Striped Cotton, 4 yd..._

01ʛ, 24ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 White Cotton, 8 yd..._

00ʛ, 11ʢ, 00ȸ..._1 White Floral Pattern Lace Trim, 10 yd..._

**…...TOTAL: ****14ʛ, 07ʢ, 20ȸ**

**.**

**R**emus almost wanted to cry when he saw the total at the bottom of the receipt. Heri had come back from an afternoon in town with a bill for over 14 Galleons*! (see AN at the top) And that was just one shop! If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that Heri was Sirius' child; their ability to wrack up such an astonishing bill in so little time was exactly the same.

Remus eyed the other bags Heri was moving to the table. He almost didn't want to ask about _those_.

"You realise this is more than we spend on groceries in a week," said Remus, keeping his tone mild. He noted that Heri was looking rather tired.

Heri blinked at him sleepily. She smiled vaguely and rubbed at the corner of one of her eyes.

"I suppose so. Thankfully, these will last me quite a bit longer than a week, and I won't have to buy any more any time soon. That's the beauty of buying in bulk."

Remus sighed.

"But why on earth do you even need . . ." He checked the receipt again, "eight hundred pins and a 16 ounce bucket of buttons?"

Heri shrugged, going back to taking her things from the bags.

"I meant to just pop in for more embroidery floss since the bit that I brought with me ran out, but they were having this _massive_ sale — discounts and bonuses right, left, and centre! — and I've been wanting to try making my own clothes for a while now, so when I saw they had body forms and such at half-price, I just _had_ to get them."

"And . . . and the buttons and pins and everything else?"

"Well, you can't expect me to walk into a sale and not take advantage of the discounts!" Heri gave him a disbelieving look. "They were practically giving things away! Goodness, two of these bags are actually filled with just the bonuses!

"Do you know how much Miss Honey goes for back home? Almost triple! Madam Malkin _swears_ by it. Some mad old hag nearly ripped my arms out trying to get that sewing machine from me when I picked it up. Then I got into a scuffle with some chit that tried to nick my thread when she thought I wasn't looking! And don't even get me _started_ on that queue for fabric cutting . . ."

That was when Sirius came back.

"Remus!" Sirius called, flinging the front door open and bounding in. "Come see all these wicked new parts I bought for my motorbike! It's going to look so bad-ass when I'm done!"

Remus suppressed the urge to sigh.

* * *

_**D**__ear Dora,_

_Massachusetts is lovely. I expected it to be like how America's portrayed in films, but I suppose there's a reason why this part of the States is called New England. It's a pity you didn't come with us; Manchester-by-the-Sea is exactly where you would think it was located. We're rubbing elbows with Salem as well. _

_The magical shopping district's overflowing with wicked shops, and I'm not ashamed to say that I've spent a goodly amount of time already schlepping back and forth between the shops and the beach. You would love it; every witch and wizard under the age of forty dresses exactly like you, and the rest dress like hippies and pilgrims. The lack of robes is rather odd to me after being immersed in wizardliness for so long, but I suppose since their country is so young in comparison to the rest of the world, they're not as separated from Muggle trends as we are. I find that the happy medium here is growing on me._

_The house is finally clean enough that a House-elf won't drop dead at the sight of it, so we'll be looking for a House-elf tomorrow. Or rather, an equivalent to a House-elf; the poor dears are rather scarce in this part of the world, so we might have to invite the services of a Brownie or a Hobgoblin instead. The house should be all set by the end of next week, so once we get everything squared away, you really must come for a visit. Sirius and Remus are lovely, but they're not much for girl-talk._

_Give Auntie Andromeda and your father my love,_

_Heri_

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_It's a shame that you are unavailable this summer, my family and I are visiting Greece, and my mother had been looking forward to having another girl join with us. Perhaps next year, then. In the mean time, you could attend one of my future Quidditch games to to make up for the loss of the pleasure of your company. _

_How are things in America? I was once involved in a school-sanctioned letter-exchange with a student from Ilvermorny, but a description from someone else who's not a native would likely be less biased. Have you seen a Quodpot game yet? I've been told it's all the rage over there._

_Do stay safe wherever you are. I've heard that the American Ministry is very hands-off in their governing of the people._

– _Viktor_

* * *

_**D**__ear Miss Potter,_

_It is never a bother to answer questions of inquisitive students, no matter what time of year it is. Admittedly, I was not anticipating correspondence during the summer holidays, but that does not detract from the validity of your questions. Do not hesitate to contact me with your questions in the future; it is a teacher's prerogative to cultivate the minds of future generations._

_Regarding the matter of transfiguring an abiotic base into a substance that mimics mammalian biomaterial, you must keep Baumgartner's Third Principle in mind, that . . ._

* * *

_**D**__ear Andi,_

_I'm really starting to worry about Heri. She's been out of sorts since the school year ended and now she's fainted several times. That dangerous, isn't it? For her brain, right? Remus and I can't figure out what's causing it even though we're rather certain it's magically influenced. The Muggle Healer we took her to says he couldn't find anything wrong with her, so it has to be magic, but we can't find any traces of a hex or a jinx on her. She says she's fine, but conking out randomly during the day isn't exactly the sign of complete health, is it?_

_We're taking her to another Healer tomorrow, but it would make me feel better if I had your professional opinion on it. __Do you know what could be wrong?_

– _Sirius_

* * *

_**D**__ear Sirius,_

_Have you found out yet if it's being caused by a spell or not? The only thing to do if it's being caused by a spell is to get it cancelled. If it's __**not**__ magic . . . well, is Heri fainting or falling asleep? _

_If it's fainting, it could be caused by acute emotional distress resulting in a sort of panic attack. If she's having sleep attacks, it could be narcolepsy, which can happen to those that have had head injuries. Honestly, there's no 'cure' that I know of if it's either cases, as those are not so much injuries of the body but of the mind._

_I'm more a medi-witch than a proper Healer, but if such blackouts continue, I would recommend Wideye Potion and assigning someone to stay with her to make sure she doesn't collapse in a way that could hurt herself. I'm quite serious about having someone stick with her, Sirius; if it's narcolepsy, collapses can happen anywhere, and I don't want her accidentally bashing her head on something and potentially making things worse._

_Keep me informed on how it goes._

_Love,_

_Andromeda_

* * *

_**D**__ear Auntie Andromeda,_

_Thank you for your recommendation. I would have thought to use an Invigoration Draught or Girding Potion, but I suppose it's not physical exhaustion that's making me drop. _

_The Healer I was taken to said that there was no indication of me being under the influence of any spell or potion, so my condition must be caused by natural means. From the symptoms, she says it a form of narcolepsy, just like you suggested. It seems that this is something I'll be living with for a while. No tears though, it could be worse; having sleep attacks is among the least harmful medical conditions I can think of. _

_In any case, the Wideye Potion has been very effective, as has the other potion Healer Gosling prescribed. My new handmaiden, a Bogle named Oleander, has proven to be excellent company as well._

_Now that I'm thinking on it, it's a spot of good luck that we're in the States. Or rather, it's very fortunate that there are so many different types of magical creatures in this country. Hurrah for migration! Just the other day, Remus suggested finding another House-elf (or some other sort of Hob) to attend to me personally (a bit much in my opinion, but what can you do?) when we came across Ollie teasing the neighbours' cat. Our surprise was shared since she's rather young and had never encountered wizards before. _

_Can you imagine? A magical creature that's only even known Muggles!_

_I'd never heard of a Bogle before, but the encyclopaedia of North American magical creatures I got from the shop says that they share ancestry with both Boggarts and Brownies and that they're shape-shifters with Being-level intelligence. So, they're rather like House-elves, but with the ability to disguise themselves, and without the intrinsic necessity to serve. They're described to reach an average of a five-year-old human child's body mass in any form when fully mature, and have long prehensile tongues that remain the same in any shape. They're said to be fond of frightening people like Boggarts do, but Ollie hasn't shown any such inclination so far._

_The best part, I think, is that Ollie can assume a human form. I thought I was going to have to stay in the house all day for the rest of the summer __—__ I wouldn't have been able to take a House-elf or any other Hob around town, of course. That would have brought down the fun of holidaying in another country, you know? Thankfully, Ollie passes very well for a little girl (she's in adolescence, so she's roughly the proportions of a four-year-old), and we've had a grand time out and about. _

_She's been lovely, really. It's rather like how I imagine having a younger sister would be. Of course, Ollie's been very solicitous, but she doesn't have any duties outside of making sure I don't collapse at inopportune times, so it's very easy to treat her like any other child. She's the cutest thing! She's got the pointed ears all Hobs have, bright blue eyes, and an upturned, twitchy nose just like a rabbit. She's so huggable, I can hardly put her down!_

_Anyway, before I drag this letter out any longer, could I ask you to send your recipe for the Wideye Potion? Neither the one we get from the Apothecary nor the one I make with the standard recipe is as good as the one you sent along with your last letter. They're effective enough I suppose, but they don't taste anywhere near as nice._

_Hoping you receive this in good health,_

_Heri_

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_I'm not sure if I should believe your claims. Goth as the standard basis of fashion? Way to fulfil a stereotype. Why don't they just grow warts and make out with hellspawn while they're at it? Ugh, please, tell me you're joking._

_By the way, what did you get for No. __8 on the Arithmancy worksheet? I'm properly stumped. I'm absolutely horrid at Gematria, and the bottom half of the page is nothing but. I might have to drop the class after O.W.L.s if this continues._

– _Sally-Anne_

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_Out of all the things that have been asked of me, the school books I no longer have need of are definitely among the oddest. You must be more studious than I originally thought. You realise that the curriculum of Durmstrang is quite a bit different than Hogwarts? Not to mention that I'm quite certain that we do not share the same academic interests. I have sent them along with this letter, of course, but what use they will be to you I don't know._

– _Viktor_

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_If it wasn't selfish of me, I'd demand you return immediately. You have __**no**__ idea how annoying Megan's becomes without you around! I thought she was a huge blabbermouth normally, but it's like she's decided to dial it up to eleven! The only time she hasn't been getting on my nerves recently has been when Zacharias was around, and that's only because we all know he would have her running home in tears if she got him started._

_Bless her, we've had some good times together, but it's like she presses all my buttons all at once when she gets started. Not even __**Malfoy**__ irks me as badly! _

_Just the other day, we met some cute boys at a Quidditch game, and just when I thought Sally-Anne had charmed their de facto leader into inviting us to get ice cream with them, Megan starts running her mouth about how much of a Quidditch expert she is because of her pro player sister and scares them off! Not even the fool that was dribbling all over himself at her fawning stuck around! _

_It's like she had absolutely no concept of how human interaction works. She'd be golden if she'd just stop talking over everyone else during conversations. It's enough to make me want to scream!_

_Come back soon and rescue me!_

– _Hannah_

* * *

_**D**__ear Hannah,_

_I'm afraid that Sirius doesn't plan on us leaving any time soon. He's become quite enamoured with small-town life and is drinking in the anonymity with gusto. There's not likely to be any protest from Remus either, since __**he **__is rather taken with the charms of New England as well. Maybe you could go on a trip of your own? I mean, if you truly need some time away from Megan . . . _

_Do try to be easier on her; her enthusiasm runs away with her and she doesn't realise that not everyone shares the same interests._

_Speaking of presumptuous enthusiasm, my cousin Dora has been visiting, and in her giddiness of her first time having time off from work, she's volunteered me to be a babysitter for a child we met at a play-park. _

_I've told you about Ollie, right? Well, she expressed interest in the swings we saw on our way home from the beach, and while I was teaching her how to make the swing work, Dora struck up a conversation with the gentleman pushing his own child at the next seat over. Work and irregular schedules must have come up because I was soon recommended as a first-rate child-minder. Hourly rates were discussed. Before I knew what was happening, I was being introduced to the very charming Alabaster C. Torrington, a young man of two years old._

_I'm a babysitter now; I didn't see that coming. He'll be over everyday for the rest of the summer since Mr Torrington has a very time consuming job, and the grandmother that used to watch him is in the hospital. I like children, make no mistake, but I have little experience with those that are just putting on their big-kid underpants. What's more, the lad is magical and his parents appear to be Muggles. _

_You've watched over your younger cousins before, right? Is there anything you recommend?_

_Love,_

_Heri_

* * *

_**H**__eri,_

_The public been clambering for word on you for a fortnight already; they're getting antsy that there hasn't been any public sightings of you for a while. I've actually seen a few reporters scoping out the places you've been seen at before in hopes of getting an interview; one actually tried grilling __**me**__ about what I knew. It'd be funny if it wasn't so pathetic._

_Father has asked me how you've been doing and has told me to tell you that he recommends extending your holiday as long as you can. I assume he means that you should arrive home the day before we have to catch the Express at the earliest and Floo directly onto the platform the day of. I'm rather inclined to agree with him; the corrupted factions are scrabbling for whatever footing they can sink their claws into, and I don't doubt there are some sensationalists of Skeeter's ilk that would love to throw the kneazles amongst the pixies with misconstrued quotes._

_I trust you are maintaining a low key over there. Keep it that way._

– _Zacharias_

* * *

"**C**ome on, Allie," Heri coaxed, crouched down, her hand held out to the little boy hiding under the bed. "The creature's gone now; it's safe to come out."

The trembling boy under the bed merely shook his head, curling himself further into the corner her had settled himself in.

Heri bit back a sigh and rocked back on her heels. This was turning out to be a hell of a day. She should have known something like this would happen; after such a long stretch without having to battle anything, a monster attack was long overdue.

It had been nearly a week since Alabaster's father had started dropping off his son for the day — sometimes for the accompanying night as well — for Heri to look after. Alabaster was a good boy, a little prone to naughtiness, but he was lively without being obnoxious. He had been shy around her at first, but he soon warmed up when Heri proved herself to be a willing playmate. They had been having a grand time of it until today.

Sirius and Remus were out grocery shopping, and Dora had returned to England half a week ago. Heri had been in the kitchen, cutting up some cantaloupe for them to snack on, when some winged beast came crashing through the glass patio door. One look at its snarling, hungry face was enough for her to conclude that a polite request for it to leave would not be enough. Shifting her grip on the kitchen knife, she then ordered Ollie to take Alabaster and hide.

As Ollie plucked up the terrified toddler and bolted up the stairs, Heri had leaped at the monster, aiming for the wings. The beast was a scrappy thing, but it was no match for Heri. A few broken vases, scratched up sofas, and some rips in her blouse later, there was nothing left but dust and a couple of tail feathers.

Now, all there was left to do was to soothe the scared child and tidy up the mess. The Brownie they now employed discreetly took care of the tidying, but it was up to Heri to cajole Alabaster out of hiding.

Ollie came scurrying in with a sippy-cup filled with grape juice.

"Thank you, sweetheart," said Heri, petting Ollie on the head.

The Bogle butted up into the hand, closing her eyes in delight.

"Will Alabaster come out to play now?" Ollie asked, blinking guileless eyes up at Heri. She tilted her head and peeked under the bed. "Playing in the dark is no fun."

"In a moment, pet," Heri replied, shifting so she now sat on her knees. She peered under again. "Come now, sweetheart, I wouldn't be here if the creature was still around. It's been taken care of and it won't be hurting anyone."

Alabaster sniffled, rubbing a fist to his eye.

"Monster hurt gwamma!" he sobbed. "Monster go'n' hurt me too!"

Heri stilled.

"It was . . ." Heri began. "Alabaster! You mean you've seen that thing before?"

"Hurt gwamma," he repeated, his shoulders shaking.

Heri sat back, landing heavily on her bum. In her experience, a normal person, magical or otherwise, either won't see the monsters — the ones that turn to dust upon destruction — at all, or would perceive it as something completely mundane instead. Ernie had told her that this was because of a thing called the Mist, a mystical influence created by Hecate to keep the Divine hidden from everyday Muggles. For Alabaster to not only see it for what it truly was, but to have experienced it before as well . . .

Heri peered under the bed again, her eyes noticeably wider.

"Alabaster," she breathed, examining the boy with keener eyes. "Alabaster . . . it's fine now!" Her tone became much more earnest.

This poor boy! Seeing things no one else around him could see and not being old enough to do anything about them! And his family got hurt because of it! Heri didn't like the Dursleys in the least bit, but she still couldn't imagine the guilt she'd feel if one of the monsters that regularly came after her attacked them as well.

She looked at toddler sadly.

"I know the monsters can be very scary, dear. You must be so confused why no one else can see them. But I've dealt with them before! I know how to get rid of the before anyone can get hurt. It's safe to come out now."

Alabaster returned her wide-eyed look.

"You . . . you see 'em too?" he whispered, as if scared someone would overhear them.

"I do," Heri told him. "I have other friends that can see them as well. It's because of who our mummies and daddies are. When you get bigger, it won't be as scary any longer."

"I don' want 'em ta hurt me," Alabaster warbled, his eyes filling again.

"Oh, lovey," Heri cooed, extending her hand to him once more. "Nothing's going to hurt you when I'm around to protect you. You don't have to be scared when I'm here."

Sniffling once more, Alabaster finally crawled forward and took Heri's hand. He latched onto the appendage like it was a life-line as Heri hauled him out. Using the momentum, the little boy launched himself into Heri's lap, burrowing into her stomach and clutching at the front of her shirt.

Heri immediately wrapped her arms around the distraught child. One arm around his middle and the other gently rubbing his back, she rocked Alabaster as he cried out his fear, confusion, and relief.

When Ollie joined in on the hug by sidling up and smoothing down the boy's hair, Heri's heart squeezed with almost painful affection. A tingle similar to the ones she experienced when her battle senses went off filled her, but instead of shooting through her limbs to fortify them, this remained in her chest, merely warming her.

As if sharing Heri's sentiment, the two children snuggled harder into her.

Had Heri been paying any attention to anything outside of the two in her arms, she would have noticed that she was glowing with divinity.

* * *

_**D**__ear Ernie,_

_You were right about the monsters._

_I've found a baby demigod that's had some bird creature put his grandmother in the hospital. I've taken care of the bird creature, but I'm not sure what to do with Alabaster. He's only two and his father __—_ _very busy with work —__ he spends too little time around Alabaster to hide the child's scent with his humanity. With Alabaster's grandmother effectively out of the picture and him now spending the majority of his time with __**me**__, I worry about what will happen to him when I leave at the end of the summer._

_I'm considering telling his father. Obviously, Mr Torrington must be aware to some extent, but I'm not sure if he understands the danger his son is in. They live out amongst the Muggles; I'm not sure if you understand how much more likely one is to be attacked outside of Magical areas, but I've had contact with monsters well before my tenth birthday, and I've encountered more creatures during the summers I used to spend with my Muggle relatives than I have yet to do amongst wizards._

_It's not safe out here, Ernie, especially for someone as young as Alabaster. Please tell me there's a spell or something I can cast to . . ._

* * *

_**D**__ear Potter,_

_Macmillan owl'd me about you needing an enchanted object that can hide us from monsters. Now, there's not much outside of a really foul Muggle that can hide the scent of an adolescent or older demigod, but the Carmichael Family grimoire has instructions for enchanting a piece of jewellery that will work for a child less than twelve years old. It's best if it's never taken off, but . . ._

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_Thank you for the chained wallet you sent me. It has to be the nicest gift I've ever received. At first, I was a bit confused as to why it came with a chain, but it's been of great help to me; I've yet to lose it since I've started using it. I usually have to have our House-elf, Corbin, find my wallet as I usually have trouble keeping track of it._

_Gran says she's impressed by the quality of leather and the workmanship, and it's very difficult to impress my Gran._

_Anyway, I hope you like my gift in return. I was thinking about getting you Henbane's Bestiary since you like C.O.M.C. so much, but I saw this in the shops when I was out picking up new pruning shears. I remembered you mentioning your interest in them before, so I thought you might like a crystal ball of your own. _

_Hoping you are well,_

_Neville_

* * *

the

DAILY PROPHET

* Wizarding Britain's Premier News Source *

(August 3, 1995)

_**ROUGE DEMENTORS ROAMING LONDON**_

By Live-Action Correspondent, Sulplice Quimbledorn

Terror and despair struck the hearts of wizards and Muggles alike yesterday afternoon when a trio of Azkaban's notorious guards descended upon the unsuspecting citizens of the London Borough of Islington going about their daily business. As the foul creatures bore down upon them, several Muggles in their automobiles succumbed to the dispiriting influence and crashed into one another, resulting in severe damage of both persons and vehicles.

Aurors on the scene were horrified and baffled . . .

* * *

_**D**__ear Heri,_

_Greenland is lovely. The ice is yummy. _

_We haven't spotted any Umbringulated Gorbevacs, but I've found that the Monster Book of Monsters does an admirable job of sniffing out hiding creatures. My copy (that I've named Grizwald) valiantly discovered and confronted a Troll of Nadroj* before we could Apparate away. He got a bit scuffed, but he's stronger for it._

_Don't worry too much about your precious burden; your enchantment will hold. Also, his mother is one of the more attentive ones, so protection will come from that front as well._

_With fond wishes,_

_Luna_

_P.S. Daddy says hello._

_P.P.S. Grizwald says hello too, and that he'd like to formally court __**your**__ copy. I don't speak much sentient-bookese, but I believe he's spoken at great lengths about her crisp cover and sharp pages._

**.**

**H**eri blinked at the odd declaration in Luna's post-script. The Monster Books of Monsters were actually sentient enough to the point that they desired to reproduce as well? That was some smart spell-work. She wondered what level of proficiency one had to reach to be able to create such a feat. She didn't know what to think about 'Grizwald' wanting to mate with her own Book, though. The other girl made it sound very formal, which implied that the Books had a level of intelligence comparable to Beings . . .

A thought suddenly occurred to her when she glanced up to see Alabaster down for a nap in the baby-cot she had found in the attic. Taking out a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill, Heri immediately began to pen a return letter to Luna.

_Dear Luna,_

_I'm glad to hear that you're having a nice time, though I'm tempted to worry for you after an encounter withe a Troll of Nadroj. You're being careful, right? Discovery is wonderful, but not at the price of your life and limbs._

_As for matters of courting, I'm afraid my Book will be too pre-occupied in another matter to engage in such a thing. The distance between them will be another strike against it, you see, because I'll be leaving . . . __H__er? I'll be leaving her here . . ._

* * *

_**D**__ear Miss Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected to serve as Prefect for Hufflepuff House. Your school record shows that you are willing to work hard, have exhibited the ability to lead others, and value fair play, which Hufflepuffs have long stood for._

_We are certain that you will continue to be a model for your peers and will take your new responsibilities seriously. Enclosed, please find your Prefect Badge, which should be worn on your robes at all times. Congratulations!_

_Sincerely,_

_Pomona Sprout_

_Head of Hufflepuff House_

* * *

**C**overed in monster dust and bruises, a blond boy with the twitchy shiftiness inherent to people that had seen some shit stood in a partially destroyed playground. Around him, the ground was splattered with blood and looked like some great beast had raked its claws over the terrain repeatedly. This description was spot on. Barely able to keep on his feet, the boy tilted dangerously to the side with exhaustion and despair when he had no choice but to accept that his sword had been corroded down to little more than useless sludge.

"Dear, _dear_ . . ."

The blond boy's head snapped to the side at the sudden exclamation. Caught off guard, he swivelled around on the spot, holding up his melted sword in front of him. He was panting harshly and almost seeing double, not at all ready for another confrontation.

The person that had come up behind him held up a placating hand.

"Steady on there, we mean you no harm!"

His blitzing mind took a moment to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Standing before him was an older girl, anywhere from eleven to fourteen for all he could tell, a cautiously friendly look on her pretty face. She looked to be a rich kid, dressed in a blue floral sundress, hair pinned up under a fancy looking sun hat, and white, elbow-length gloves. Hanging off her were two little kids, one being a girl around kindergarten age, the other looking like he was still using diapers.

They had been using the swings earlier, the boy thought inanely, before everything went to hell and everyone else had run away screaming. His useless sword had not wavered from where he was holding it. He was in no state to be letting his guard down, not when he was down a weapon and literally anyone could be a monster in disguise.

He had been on the run for several months now. In that time, he had discovered that more monsters lived among the regular people than he had thought, and that every single one of those monsters were willing to toss aside their unassuming front at the drop of a hat just to get their claws in fresh demigod meat.

Just earlier that day, he had been trying to buy a box of doughnuts from a bakery with the money he had pickpocketed off a crotchety old businessman the evening before when a dude in a friggin' wheelchair tried to take a bite out of him. The resulting chase led to him zig-zagging across town and eventually laying waste to a really nice playground, likely scarring several kids and their parents for life.

Knowing what he did about the Mist, he wondered if he'd be featured on the local news as some Satanist juvenile delinquent that brutally murdered a disabled person. After what happened with that shoe-store employee that one time when he was still in Connecticut, he wouldn't be surprised.

"Alright then . . ." the girl said slowly, cautiously lowering the toddler from her hip and depositing him in the little girl's arms.

Once the transaction was completed, the younger girl automatically stepped behind the older girl and backed up a few steps. The little ankle-biter squirmed in agitation but made no protest.

The blond boy's conscience twinged at seeing the scared look on the little kids' faces, but he wasn't ready to lower his guard, not when he was still running on hyped up instincts and adrenaline.

The older girl's newly freed hand came up to join the first one in the placating gesture.

"There now," she said soothingly. He noted that her accent wasn't American. "We're all friends here. I didn't mean to startle you, mate."

"Wh-wha —" he tried to say, his jitters not helping at all. He flicked his head in irritation. "Who . . . ?"

"I'm Heri," the girl said, her lips quirking in a wry smile. "Behind me is Ollie and Allie. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but you're pointing something that you just used to kill an acid-spitting monster at me. May I know the name of such a dangerous young man?"

He gaped at her. No monster ever—! So she— But _no _mortal he had met before—!

"Mm-mon-s-ster?" he stuttered, his brain all jumbled.

No monster called each other 'monster', it was always proper names or species with them. It was as if they didn't realize that killing people on a whim and trying to eat them was horrific. The only other person beside himself that he knew of that called them monsters was his mother—

"Are you a goddess?" he blurted out before he could even finish the thought.

She blinked at him in surprise, her hands faltering. He blushed at how tactless his question was, but didn't take it back. There was an odd air about her, and he didn't know how else to phrase it.

"A goddess?" she echoed, blinking rapidly. "Not as far as I know. I don't need to be a goddess to see that you and that monster did a number on each other, though I suppose you came out the better."

She then tilted her head and frowned at him with a concerned look on her face. "Do you need to sit down, dear? You look rather dizzy, and I don't like how much that cut on your arm is bleeding. Best to calm down your heart-rate."

Having concluded she was no monster despite whatever else she could be, the blond boy finally dropped his ruined sword, letting it fall to the ground as the older girl gently caught him by his shoulder and eased him down as well.

She clucked over the aforementioned cut, looking very unhappy indeed.

"Fetch me the first-aid kit from my bag, would you, lambkin?" she said to the younger girl. "In fact, bring the entire thing."

The little girl snapped to immediately, returning the toddler and dashing off.

"Have you never met another demigod before?" the Heri girl murmured as she held the sides of his gushing wound together to stem the bleeding. "'Goddess' isn't usually the reaction I get."

His blush returned. Oh. He hadn't considered _that_ as a possibility.

"I didn't expect to run into another one, not so soon at least," he mumbled. "You don't even look like one."

"Oh?" she said, cocking her head again, gently prodding some bruises. "I didn't know we had a uniform. What is one supposed to look like then?"

"Well . . ." he hedged as the little girl returned. Heri immediately pulled out a some bandages and creams. "Heroic looking, I guess. Like Hercules, you know? Swords and scars and stuff. I figured they'd be on the run like me."

Heri paused in what she was doing and looked up at him.

"You're on the run?" she asked very seriously. "Is it that bad over here? You look like you should still be in primary school."

He shrugged uncomfortably.

"Mom's not right in the head, so I figured it'd be better for the both of us if monsters didn't attack the house while trying to get to me. I don't have to worry about protecting her now either."

". . . And how old are you?"

"I turn ten in a few months."

Heri didn't say anything in reply, she just pursed her lips and returned her attention to the aforementioned gushing wound.

"I think this is going to need stitches," she eventually said after wiping off some of the blood and stemming the flow with gauze. "The others will be fine in a few days, but this one's going to need some extra help."

She got up and brushed off the back of her dress. She held her hand out to him.

"I can sew you back together at my house. I doubt you'll be wanting to go to the hospital, so you'll have to make due with my sewing kit."

He let himself be hauled up by her and led out of the park. They walked pretty briskly, so he was surprised to see how well the younger girl was kept up. The toddler was back on Heri's hip, of course.

"You never mentioned your name," Heri said as she led him up the walkway of a house of a kind he had only ever seen on TV before.

"Oh, right," he replied, awkwardly following behind her. "I'm Luke Castellan."

* * *

_**D**__ear Fisken,_

_Thank you for all your hard work. It's a relief to know that Bramblewood Hall will be in good hands while I'm away. You are, of course, to see to the house however you see fit, but I have one small request should it not inconvenience you too much: please allow entrance to Alabaster and Luke should they ever come seeking a place to stay, especially Luke. I worry about them so, and I want it so they have at least one place in the world where they don't have to constantly fear for their lives. If you would be so good as to feed them as well, my heart would rest easier knowing that they are in good hands._

* * *

the

DAILY PROPHET

* Wizarding Britain's Premier News Source *

(September 2nd, 1995)

_**HERI POTTER RETURNS!**_

By On-site Reporter, Fatima Petrova

After a three-month hiatus in which none of the public had seen or heard rumour of her, Miss Potter returns to us in just enough time to board the Hogwarts Express. This reporter had been present, dropping off her own child, when Miss Potter arrived via her guardian's Apparition. The outcry of those in witness was massive.

Miss Potter, if you recall, was recently abducted by a former You-Know-Know follower, eventually resulting in outrage at the questionable competence of the current administration . . .

* * *

_**T**o Whom it May Concern:_

_Miss Potter has been diagnosed with a variation of narcolepsy. She is currently taking Wideye Potion and P__ö__ttiger's Perking Nostrum for this condition. I request that whoever is in charge of students' health maintain her medication schedule: One dose each of Wideye and P__ö__ttiger's at every standard mealtime. It is also encouraged that she take several short naps (10-15 minutes) daily to prevent undue sleepiness._

_However, even with the medication, Miss Potter's condition remains chronic. She suffers from sudden collapse during periods of low-activity, so a companion has been assigned to accompany her to prevent damage to her person during an attack. If an attack happens within the presence of others, it's best for them to not crowd around when her companion wakes her, as that leads to disorientation and potentially violent over-reaction when she regains consciousness. A dose of her medication is recommended if she remains drowsy after an attack._

_Miss Potter has inquired about extracurricular exercise and whether she will be able to continue participating in school Quidditch games. As she has yet to have any collapses during high-activity periods, I approve of her continued participation, provided that she takes a dose of her medication before the game, just to be safe. _

_Thank you for your cooperation in these matters. _

_Yours faithfully,_

_Healer Calpurnia Gosling_

_General Practitioner_

_Member of the National Health Conglomerate_

_St. Marciana's Medical Center, Salem, MA_

* * *

_**D**__ear Sirius,_

_I've decided it's time to stop wondering if strange things will ever stop happening to me. The answer to that is no, they will not. It's time to throw in the towel, because it's just something I doubt I'll ever outgrow at this rate._

_I've accidentally eaten Professor Binns. Or maybe a better word for it would be 'inhaled'. No one is more baffled by it than myself. I was just yawning, and then suddenly I breathed him in like a cloud of smoke; he even tasted the __barbecue charcoal__. _

_You should have seen the look on Granger's face, one would have thought I was the Antichrist. _

_Thankfully, he was no longer a living thing, __so it doesn't count as killing, and thus I can't be punished for it, __but now the rest of the ghost are looking at me like I'm the light at the end of the tunnel they ran away from. Myrtle actually burst into tears at the sight of me, and it took several romance novels to calm her down again._

_Unprecedented spiritual powers aside, we now lack a History professor. _

_Send help._

– _Heri_

* * *

_**D**__ear Headmaster Dumbledore,_

_In light of the new History of Magic professor, I must inform you that I will be self-studying in that subject for the rest of this school year at the very least. While Professor Umbridge has a unique outlook in her course aims and teaching methods, I'm afraid they don't suit my needs in the slightest. I plan to take my O.W.L.s and eventually my N.E.W.T.s on the subject, and Professor Umbridge has already revealed to us that she doesn't plan to include many parts of history that will be included in those examinations._

_I apologise if this is rather sudden, but I'd rather not waste either of our times by lingering in the class and eventually making more work for everyone involved by dragging it out._

_Hoping this letter finds you in good health,_

_Heri Potter_

_5th-year Hufflepuff Prefect_

**_._**

**D**umbledore read over the very politely put-together note once again and shook his head wryly. Only Heri Potter would send a letter in advanced to her professors to inform them that she was boycotting a class in protest of the instructor. For all that she was such a retiring girl she certainly didn't put up with much. She was a bit like her mother in that respect.

The headmaster sighed when he realised that there would now be a drove of students refusing to attend History of Magic. Sometimes it was quite troublesome how the other students were so eager to follow the Potter girl's lead.

* * *

the

DAILY PROPHET

* Wizarding Britain's Premier News Source *

(January 14nd, 1996)

_**MASS OUTBREAK FROM AZKABAN! YOU-KNOW-WHO RETURNS?**_

By Live-Action Correspondent, Sulplice Quimbledorn

Late last evening, a handful of bedraggled and singed prison guards stumbled into the Aurors' Office, shouting that ten prisoners had escaped. Their accounts of the breakout go from shocking to horrifying as they related that several dementors had turned on them as well. (See 3rd page for more on the last account of rouge dementors) One man was a trembling mess when he recounted that the escapees had been rejoicing loudly, praising their 'lord' for coming to rescue them.

Minister Fudge had this to say . . .

* * *

_**D**ear Luke,_

_I hope Hedwig has found you in good health and that neither of you attacked the other upon meeting. I assume you can see her four legs and general terrifyingness as well? Rest assured, claw-scratches aside, I would not send her if I thought she would try to eat you. I suppose she is technically a 'monster,' but she has never shown any aggression towards demigods beyond what she shows for any other person. Please feed her a stray animal to temper any aggression she might show._

_It was my hope that you would regard my house as a sort of safe-house and stay there awhile longer, but I would understand if you didn't. Feel free to return at any point, I've instructed my 'invisible servants' as you call them to care for you if you ever come back. I only request that you keep the enclosed ring on you at all times. _

_You're nearly too old for it, but the ring should hide your scent from monsters while you wear it. I've made a similar trinket for Allie, so you don't have to worry about him if you're not in the area. It's meant for children under the age of twelve, so I hope you get as much use out of it as you can while you still can. Please stay safe._

_Love,_

_Heri_

* * *

**AN: **If you're curious about Bogles, they are actual mythical creatures. The description of them in this story is purely my own making though. They're actually similar to Boggarts, but I couldn't find any description of them that made them solely unique. Since I needed another Hob-like creature, the Bogle works rather well.

*A Troll of Nadroj is a canonical Harry Potter creature. It was mentioned in the Monster Book of Monsters during the 3rd film.


	8. The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt 1

**AN:** Back! Go to my profile if you want the explanation of what was causing the hold up.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt. 1**

* * *

**I**t was an inescapable fact that no good news came from a late-night caller during times of civil unrest. Equally as inescapable was the fact that Number 12 Grimmauld Place had been playing host to several of those late-night callers for quite some time now, nearly a year now to be exact. Whether in the form of a hodgepodge crowd arriving to pool whatever information they had gleaned covertly, or shifty messengers checking in under the cover of the dead of night, the inhabitants of Number 12 had become quite used to the cloak-and-dagger routine and the inevitable solemnity that came with it. The Order of the Phoenix, for all its good intentions, was still undeniably a vigilante group.

The first iteration of these clandestine occurrences happened the night that the current residents had returned from their holiday overseas. It turned out that Sirius and Remus had been keeping contact with other members of the Order since the reinstatement of the group at the end of Heri's fourth year at school. When word was sent out that they were returning to England, it was decided that a proper meeting with all the current members in attendance was in order. Since then, Number 12 had become the official headquarters of the Order, the Black Family wards on top of a Fidelius Charm being absolutely nothing to scoff at.

Heri had remained distanced from the goings-on since her return home after fifth-year, partly because the Order members didn't feel right about having an under-age witch involved, no matter who she was, and partly because Heri herself had no interest in joining in. She respected the importance of what they were doing, but she couldn't think of any benefit for anyone for her to even just sit in on meetings. Sirius and Remus already told her about things like Death Eater activities, anything more would just be redundant since she couldn't contribute in any espionage anyway.

Since the traffic though the lower floors of the house had increased, another fireplace had been installed up on the third floor for Heri and her friends to use. The entirety of the third floor had more or less been gifted to Heri when she had arrived, so the Floo address was 'Number 12 1/5, Potter Residence.' The Floo had been put to good use as of late because word had gotten to them (via Professor Snape's report at a meeting) that Voldemort had indeed gotten himself re-embodied somehow through nefarious means, so Heri's two guardians had become exceedingly reluctant to allow her outside of the protection of the wards. This resulted in numerous slumber-parties, many that included the boys as well when Zacharias' and Ernie's parents (who held Ministry positions) wanted their boys somewhere extra safe while they were away on business.

Truthfully, remaining within the premises of Number 12 for the majority of the summer holiday wasn't much of a trial, not for Heri at least. She had spent her formative years being locked away when not at school or doing chores, so being free to even just wander the house was still pretty novel. And now she had Sirius and Remus, a personal attendant in the form of Oleander, and a veritable menagerie of semi-sentient experiments; she required no further stimulation. Her various hobbies were indoorsy anyway, so it wasn't like she was craving the fresh air. If left to her own devices, she would have been perfectly happy, but the thing about having friends was that you had to maintain them as well.

Now, 'maintaining' her friends wouldn't have been such a bother if it wasn't for the fact that they _insisted_ on making a bother of themselves. The open invitation extended to come by whenever they wanted added together with their inborn crowding tendencies resulted in them taking up the majority of her waking hours, taking her away from her personal projects. She enjoyed having friends, but . . .

Damn their need to crowd! Was it so difficult to stop acting like bleating herbivores and just exist independently every once in a while?

This was the first summer that she had spent so much time with her school friends, and, _dear gods_, it was nearly as grating as dealing with the Dursleys! Granted, none of them were wishing her dead or trying to bully her, but on top of being required to provide interesting conversation and fun in any form, she was expected to keep the peace while not being allowed to fall back on her old standby method of dealing with the Dursleys: intimidation and physical injury. She knew wishing for such a thing likely meant she was damaged in the head, but performing an old fashion beat down was _so_ much easier than using people skills.

Though they tried to hide it, there was a tension surrounding her friends these days, a fidgety atmosphere that had been amping up since the break-out from Azkaban had happened. They had been sniping at each other more than usual, the taunts they exchanged coming with more bite. Sarcastic banter was par on course for Hannah and Zacharias, but even the ever 'too-cool' and passive-aggressive Sally-Anne was getting in her shots. Heri had never spent so much time mediating for their clashing personalities in all the time that she'd known them. When it wasn't Zacharias and Megan having a go at each other, it was Wayne seething from some backhanded compliment Sally-Anne gave ever so idly.

Heri tried to be understanding, but it was difficult enough to not join in their growling without having to empathise with them as well. She had never been one that gained any sort of satisfaction or relief from being beastly to others, but it seemed every one of her usual crowd took some bit of delight of getting one over others, even Ernie, the who usually helped her to keep heads from being bitten off. If the bickering wasn't ridiculous enough already, Ernie had gotten into a silent grudge-match with Hannah when Heri wasn't looking, and now she was alone in reigning in her onerous bunch.

If wasn't one thing, it was another.

Heri had already known that her friends didn't deal well with the uncertainty of a situation that they couldn't do anything about — second and third year had proven _that_ — but she hadn't expected them to start taking it out on each other. It had gotten to the point that Heri had developed the habit of crocheting — an activity that required prolonged immediate attention — so she wouldn't start ripping into them from sheer irritation. The habit soon became something of a tick, and she was now averaging three to four completed projects a week.

She was _not_ their mother, Heri told herself as she busied her hands. She was their _friend_, and it was not her place to scold them as if she had any right to tell them what to do. How could she expect them to respect her rights if she didn't respect theirs? This was what she constantly reminded herself to keep her self in check. She knew fully well what her temper was like, and it wouldn't do anyone any favours if she blew up and rained down a hellish fury like she used to do when she was younger.

Now if only her friends would do her the courtesy of doing similarly. Heri knew that friendships could become strained as people grew up — she had observed other students at school enough to know _that_ — but the in-fighting wasn't so much drifting apart as it was self-destructing. She liked to think that this was just a phase brought on by hormones and stress that they would eventually get past, but she couldn't help but be reminded that they had always been more _her_ friends than they were each other's. Either way, she was getting mightily fed up, and sixth year hadn't even started yet.

It was in this agitated state of mind that Remus called Heri away from the other girls as they were preparing for bed. It wasn't even nine yet, but they wanted to get an early start for tomorrow's outing to beat the before-school rush. Remus came knocking as they were just finishing up their pre-bedtime rituals.

Judging from the pinched, almost resigned look on his face when Heri opened her door, it was going to be another one of their late-night callers. But who could it be that Heri's presence was required? She pulled on a sleeping robe over her nightgown and followed Remus down the stairs.

Walking down to the dining room where Order meetings took place, Heri saw that their late guest was none other than Headmaster Dumbledore. A cup of tea in front of him, he was sat next to Sirius, looking quite a bit more tired than she had ever seen him.

Heri didn't know Professor Dumbledore personally very well. She had spoken to him a few times in passing, whether at school or during down-time before Order meetings, but she couldn't say they were much more than acquainted. If asked, she would say that she knew Professor _Snape _more intimately, and the dour man usually ignored her altogether when he wasn't sending her fellow Hufflepuffs skittering to hide behind her in the face of his harsh berating or getting into an argument with Sirius about his suitability of taking care of anyone, let alone her. The Headmaster seemed kind enough, but Heri hadn't felt any desire so far to get to know him outside of a professional setting.

When Professor Dumbledore noticed her as she entered the room, he gave her a worn but fond smile. It wasn't much more than a slight upturn of his lips, but that was easily excused seeing as he looked weary enough that she suspected he hadn't slept in a few days.

"Hello, my dear," said the Headmaster, straightening up and lifting his cup to take a sip.

Heri bobbed in an abbreviated curtsy. So long had she been under Auntie Andromeda's tutelage that such gestures were now habitual instead of stilted like they had been in the beginning.

"Good evening, Professor," Heri said. "I hope you're well?"

He lowered his cup with a quiet sigh and smiled ruefully.

"Perhaps not at my best at the moment," he admitted, "but not nearly as bad as I look, I assure you. And yourself?"

"With all things considered, as well as I can be, sir."

"What is this about, Professor?" asked Sirius before they could continue with their pleasantries, a frown on his face. "You've never asked to see Heri before."

Professor Dumbledore's demeanour then became withdrawn. He looked grimmer than a newly widowed elderly woman at her husband's funeral. He placed his cup back in its saucer with a tiny _clink _and drew in a fortifying breath.

"You may want to take a seat for this. I believe this will take some time to explain," the Headmaster said, interlacing his fingers on the table.

As Heri and Remus sat down, cups of tea appeared on the table for them as well. Remus took her hand under the table and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Before I begin, I must ask you, Miss Potter, what do you know of prophecies?"

If the clues leading up hadn't been enough, this was when Heri knew beyond a doubt that she would not be liking what she would be told. Heri responded in the way she would had this been a school setting and she had just been posed a question in class.

"The textbook definition of prophecy implies a process in which one or more messages are communicated through two specific types of Seers, either an Oracle or a Prophet," said Heri, her tone courteous but bland. "The messages typically involve '_divine inspiration, interpretation, or revelation_' of events to come. Historically, clairvoyance and precognition have been thought to be synonymous with prophecy, but _true_ prophecy involves being the mouthpiece of a higher power, the word coming from the Greek '_prophetia_', meaning '_a gift of interpreting the will of God_'.

"Higher powers send prophecies either when their vessels have been asked for one, or in times of war and change, when a great body of people — possibly under their jurisdiction — will be influenced. These prophecies can be things like warnings of how a change might come about, or even a message to bring hope, foretelling that a favourable end in nearing.

"Being gifted with prophecy doesn't necessarily go hand-in-hand with skill with Divination though. Higher powers choose their messengers through personal preferences, not because of any merit or capabilities. It is because of this that being an Oracle or Prophet is not recognised by any agency as a true qualification for positions that call for divinatory skills, much like how Metamorphmagy doesn't guarantee a position within the covert operations of the DMLE."

Professor Dumbledore blinked slowly, nonplussed. His lips then twitched despite his solemnity.

"A deeper understanding of it than I was expecting, admittedly," he said.

Heri quirked a small smile of satisfaction despite herself. Because Hogwarts taught beyond the standard O.W.L. education, the students that continued on to their N.E.W.T.s were acknowledged by the guilds as Apprentices under their professors, who were all Masters within their fields. This held true even if said students didn't continue on the road toward Mastery after graduation, those type technically staying Apprentices for the rest of their lives. For a girl that had spent her early years being put down and told constantly that she would never have any prospects for a good future, it was an opportunity easy to take advantage of.

"Thank you, sir. I hope to gain Masteries in as many fields as I can, Divination being amongst my top choices. I plan on applying for Journeyman accreditation at the Divinus Haruspex Association of Clairvoyants after taking my N.E.W.T.s."

Inexplicably, Professor Dumbledore winced at her statement, the bit of amusement that had been apparent drained away.

"Sir?" said Heri, voice hesitant.

"It pains me that students must now plan their future around the rising darkness," Professor Dumbledore said eventually. "I think of the bright opportunities, and inevitably Voldemort's taint casts its shadow. I feel it more strongly with you, Miss Potter, you who bear the burden of his mark with you no matter where you go.

"I made guesses, fifteen years ago, when I saw the scar upon your forehead, what it might mean. I guessed that it might be the sign of a connection forged between you and Voldemort. It became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your scar was giving you warnings when Voldemort was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion."

"I know this, sir," said Heri warily. She didn't like thinking back to the time she had no choice but to take a human life. The pain in her head that she now knew came from proximity to Voldemort was beyond any she had ever known before.

"And this ability of yours — to detect Voldemort's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused — has become more and more pronounced since Voldemort returned to his own body and his full powers."

Heri only nodded, not looking at Sirius or Remus as they sent increasingly concerned expressions toward her.

Professor Dumbledore stared into his tea cup as if he was checking for omens, then he looked back at Heri and said, "Five years ago you arrived at Hogwarts, safe and whole as I had planned and intended. Well — not quite whole. You had suffered. I could see that despite how well you were getting along. I knew you would when I left you on your aunt and uncle's doorstep. I knew I was condemning you to ten dark and difficult years."

He paused. Heri said nothing.

"You might ask — and with good reason — why it had to be so. Why could some wizarding family not have taken you in? Many would have done so more than gladly, would have been honoured and delighted to raise you as their own child.

"My answer is that my priority was to keep you alive. With Sirius and this house not an option, you were in more danger than perhaps anyone realised. Voldemort had been vanquished hours before, but his supporters — and many of them are almost as vicious as he — were still at large, angry, desperate, and violent. And I had to make my decision too with regard to the years ahead. Did I believe that Voldemort was gone forever? No. I knew not whether it would be ten, twenty, or fifty years before he returned, but I was sure he would do so, and I was sure too, knowing him as I have done, that he would not rest until he killed you.

"I knew that Voldemort's knowledge of magic is perhaps more extensive than any wizard alive. I knew that even my most complex and powerful protective spells and charms were unlikely to be invincible if he ever returned to full power.

"But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother's blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative."

"She doesn't love me _at all_, sir," said Heri at once. "She's never cared beyond how the neighbours—"

"But she took you," Professor Dumbledore cut across her. "She may have taken you grudgingly, furiously, unwillingly, bitterly, yet still she took you, and in doing so, she sealed the enchantment I placed upon you. Your mother's sacrifice made the bond of blood the strongest shield I could give you."

"I still don't—"

"While you could still call home the place where your mother's blood dwelt, there you couldn't be touched or harmed by Voldemort. He shed her blood, but it lives on in you and her sister. Her blood became your refuge. You needed return there only once a year, but as long as you still called it home, there he couldn't hurt you. Your aunt knew this. I explained what I had done in the letter I left, with you, on her doorstep. She knew that allowing you to live there may well have kept you alive for all the years you were there."

"Five years ago, then, you arrived at Hogwarts, neither as happy nor as well nourished as I would have liked, yet alive and stable. You were as normal a child as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.

"And then . . . well, you will surely remember the events of your first year at Hogwarts quite as clearly as I do. You rose magnificently to the challenge that faced you, and sooner — much sooner — than I had anticipated, you found yourself face-to-face with Voldemort. You survived again. You did even more than that, you delayed his return to full power and strength. You fought a soldier's fight and came back unconquered. I was . . . prouder of you than I can say.

"Yet there was a flaw in this wonderful plan of mine," said Professor Dumbledore. "An obvious flaw that I knew, even then, might be the undoing of it all. And yet, knowing how important it was that my plan should succeed, I told myself that I would not permit this flaw to ruin it. I could prevent this, so I must be strong. And here was my first test, as you lay in the Hospital Wing, weak from your struggle with Voldemort."

"Sir?" said Heri, confused. She had been told that the Headmaster had brought her to the Hospital Wing that time, but he had not been there when she woke up. "I don't understand what you're saying."

"Would you not have asked me then why Voldemort had tried to kill you when you were a baby?"

Heri considered this for a moment before she nodded. She had been told that Professor Dumbledore was a leader of the forces that fought against Voldemort during the war. She would have realised very quickly, if had she seen him then, that he would have at least some inkling of why Voldemort wanted her dead.

"And ought I to have told you then?"

Heri stared into the blue eyes and said nothing. Her emotional part said that she should have been told whatever this great truth was as soon as possible because it was her right to know, but her rational mind knew that it would have only hindered her at that age for something as heavy as the headmaster was implying to hang over her, especially if there was nothing she could do about it.

"You do not see the flaw in the plan yet? No . . . perhaps not. Well, as you know, I decided not to tell you. Eleven, I told myself, was much too young to know. I had never intended to tell you when you were eleven. The knowledge would be too much at such a young age.

"I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you might already want to ask the terrible question to which I knew, one day, I must give a terrible answer. I should have recognised that I was too happy to think that I did not have to do it on that particular day . . . You were too young, much too young.

"And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts. And once again you met challenges even grown wizards have never faced. Once again you acquitted yourself beyond my wildest dreams. You did not ask me then either, why Voldemort had left that mark upon you. We discussed your scar and ability to speak Parseltongue, oh, yes . . . We came very, very close to the subject. Why did I not tell you everything?

"Well, it seemed to me that twelve was, after all, hardly better than eleven to receive such information. I allowed you to leave my presence, bloodstained, exhausted but exhilarated, and if I felt a twinge of unease that I ought, perhaps, have told you then, it was swiftly silenced. You were still so young, you see, and I could not find it in me to spoil that night of triumph . . .

"Do you see, my dear? Do you see the flaw in my brilliant plan now? I had fallen into the trap I had foreseen, that I had told myself I could avoid, that I must avoid."

Heri's brow crinkled.

"I don't . . ."

"I cared about you too much," said Professor Dumbledore simply. "I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act.

"Is there a defence? I defy anyone who has watched you as I have — and I have watched you more closely than you can have imagined — not to want to save you more pain than you had already suffered. What did I care if numbers of nameless and faceless people and creatures were slaughtered in the vague future if in the here and now you were alive, and well, and happy? I never dreamed that I would have such a person on my hands.

"We entered your third year. I watched from afar as you struggled to repel dementors, as you found Sirius, learned what he was, and rescued him. Was I to tell you then, at the moment when you had triumphantly snatched your godfather from the jaws of the Ministry? But now, at the age of thirteen, my excuses were running out. Young you might be, but you had proved you were exceptional. My conscience was uneasy, Miss Potter. I knew the time was coming.

"But then you disappeared from the maze in your fourth year and I believed I had waited too long, that instead of protecting you, I had led to your downfall . . . yet still I did not tell you when you were found again. There was no time; the protection surrounding the school had to be looked to and then you were off to America.

"And now, tonight, I know you have long been ready for the knowledge I have kept from you for so long, because you have proved that I should have placed the burden upon you before this, that you have been capable for longer than I originally thought. My only defence is this: I have watched you struggling under more burdens than any student who has ever passed through this school, and I could not bring myself to add another — the greatest one of all."

Heri waited, but the Headmaster did not speak.

"Sir?"

"Voldemort tried to kill you when you were no more than a baby because of a prophecy made shortly before your birth. He knew the prophecy had been made, though he did not know its full contents. He set out to kill you when you were still a baby, believing he was fulfilling the terms of the prophecy. He discovered, to his cost, that he was mistaken, when the curse intended to kill you backfired. And so, since his return to his body, he has been determined to hear that prophecy in its entirety. This is the weapon he has been seeking so assiduously since his return: the knowledge of how to destroy you.

"On a cold, wet night sixteen years ago, in a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn, I had gone there to see an applicant for the post of Divination teacher. She had travelled rather far to apply and was boarding there. The applicant was the great-great granddaughter of a very famous, very gifted Seer, and I thought it common politeness to meet her. I was disappointed. It seemed to me that she had not a trace of the gift herself. I told her, courteously I hope, that I did not think she would be suitable for the post.

"And then I turned to leave."

Professor Dumbledore got to his feet and fetched a shallow stone basin, carved with Saxon runes around the edges, from the far end of the table that Heri had not noticed before.

"A Pensieve," he told her when he saw her curious look. "One for the use of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. During these times, it has found new use in aiding the Order in analysing information."

He walked back to where he had been sitting, placed the Pensieve upon it, and raised his wand to his temple. From it, he withdrew silvery, gossamer-fine strands of thought clinging to the wand, and deposited them in the basin.

He sat back down and watched his thoughts swirl and drift inside the Pensieve for a moment. Then, with a sigh, he raised his wand and prodded the silvery substance with its tip.

A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly, her feet in the basin. When Professor Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in harsh, hoarse tones that would better suit a mummified revenant climbing out of a sarcophagus.

"_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES . . ._

_BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . _

_AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK THEM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT THEY WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . ._

_AND THE DARK LORD WILL BRAND THEM AS HIS ENEMY, BUT THEY WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD CAN NEVER WIELD . . . _

_AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER, FOR NEITHER CAN TRIUMPH WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES . . ._

_THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . ._"

The slowly revolving Professor Trelawney sank back into the silver mass below and vanished.

"I didn't know Professor Trelawney was a Prophet," Heri remarked inanely.

The following silence within the dining room was absolute.

"Professor Dumbledore?" Sirius said very quietly when the white-haired headmaster, still staring at the Pensieve, seemed completely lost in thought. "It . . . did that mean . . . What did that mean?"

"It meant," said Professor Dumbledore, "that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This child would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times."

"Hang on a tick!" Sirius protested. "It can't be that straight forward! I thought Divination was all double meanings and interpreting symbols! How do we even know which calendar we're supposed to be using?"

"Prophecies don't actually have much of a basis in practical Divination," Heri told Sirius absently, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Divination involves . . . using your own power to actively seek knowledge not of the immediate present . . . whether from a different point in time or from a far-off location, so the clarity of the information you receive depends entirely on personal skill. Prophecies, on the other hand, are . . . direct messages from a higher power through the mouth of their chosen vessels; they may be confusing when they're out of context, but there's no ambiguity in the meaning of the words themselves.

"As for the timing, the calendar of a prophecy depend entirely on the Prophet and what they regard as standard. Since Professor Trelawney is a part of modern Western civilisation, her prophecies run on the Gregorian calendar, the current international standard."

Heri felt as though something was closing in upon her.

"But _. . . me_? Really?"

Professor Dumbledore surveyed her for a moment through his glasses.

"The odd thing is, Miss Potter," he said softly, "that it may not have meant you at all. Sibyll's prophecy could have applied to two children as far as we knew, both born at the end of July that year, both of whom had parents in the Order of the Phoenix, both sets of parents having narrowly escaped Voldemort three times. One, of course, was you. The other was Neville Longbottom."

_Neville? _Heri didn't know what mystified her more, that there was a prophecy that claimed she was destined to take on a Dark Lord the world over was terrified of or that the other known candidate for the position was Neville Longbottom. Bless him, he had a lot of potential, but she didn't think he had it in him to kill anyone, never mind Voldemort.

"But then . . ." Heri started, "but then why do you think the prophecy is referring to me and not Neville?"

"The Department of Mysteries has a hall dedicated to the records of prophecies made within the jurisdiction of the nation of Magical Britain. The official record originally had no name down for the subject of the prophecy, but was relabelled after Voldemort's attack on you as a child," said Professor Dumbledore. "It seemed plain to the keeper of the Hall of Prophecy that Voldemort could only have tried to kill you because he knew you to be the one to whom Sibyll was referring."

"Then — it might not be Heri?" said Sirius, looking hopeful.

"I am afraid," said Professor Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great effort, "that there is no doubt that it _is _Miss Potter."

"But you said — the Longbottom boy was born at the end of July too — and Frank and Alice—"

"Sirius!" Heri cried, protest written all over her face. "You can't be wishing such a thing on another person! Neville's just a _boy_! What on earth could he do against Voldemort?"

"And _you_ are just a _girl_!" Sirius shot back. "If it can be about someone else . . . _well_, you can be certain I'll be rooting for that option!"

Dumbledore interrupted with, "You are forgetting the next part of the prophecy, the identification of the child who could vanquish Voldemort. . . . Voldemort himself would 'mark them as his equal' and 'brand them as his enemy.' And so he did. He chose Miss Potter, not Mr Longbottom, for both his original attack, giving her the scar that has proved both blessing and curse, and for his attempt at a rebirthing ritual, which called for 'blood of the enemy.'"

"But he might have chosen wrong!" Sirius protested, thumping the table with his fist. "He might have picked the wrong person!"

"He chose the child he thought most likely to be a danger to him. And notice this, Miss Potter," Professor Dumbledore said, returning his attention to Heri. "He chose not the pureblood — which, according to his creed, is the only kind of wizard worth being or knowing — but the half-blood, like himself. He saw himself in you before he had ever seen you, and in marking you with that scar, he did not kill you, as he intended, but gave you powers, and a future, which have fitted you to escape him not once, but four times so far — something that neither your parents, nor Mr Longbottom's parents, ever achieved."

"But why did he do it?" asked Heri, an uncomfortable chill in her gut. "Why did he try to kill me as a _baby_? It would have made more sense if he waited to see whether Neville or I looked more dangerous when we were older and tried to kill whoever it was then —"

"That might, indeed, have been the more practical course," said Dumbledore, "except that Voldemort's information about the prophecy was incomplete. The Hog's Head Inn, which Sibyll chose for its cheapness, has long attracted, shall we say, a more interesting clientèle than the Three Broomsticks. It is a place where it is never safe to assume you are not being overheard. Of course, I had not dreamed, when I set out to meet Sibyll Trelawney, that I would hear anything worth overhearing. My — our — one stroke of good fortune was that the eavesdropper was detected only a short way into the prophecy and thrown from the building."

"So they only heard . . . ?"

"He heard only the first part, the part foretelling the birth of a child in July to parents who had thrice defied Voldemort. Consequently, he could not warn his master that to attack you would be to risk transferring power to you — again marking you as his equal. So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait or to learn more. He did not know that you would have 'power the Dark Lord knows not' —"

"But I'm not even a sixth year yet!" said Heri, utterly baffled. "He's decades older than me with just as much more experience with magic! I've only done so well so far because I got the jump on him and managed to smack him around a bit! Never mind that he wasn't ever in a proper body at the times. What power could —? And the end of the prophecy: 'neither can triumph_ —_'?"

"'— while the other survives,'" Professor Dumbledore finished.

"So . . ." said Heri slowly, unsure what to think, "so that means that . . . I'm somehow stopping him from . . . winning his war . . . so no one can stop him from trying to kill me, and to take over . . . except for me?"

"Yes," said the Headmaster, apologies written all over his face.

Heri scooted further into her seat and slumped back numbly. She sucked a deep breath in through her nose. Damn it all if this wasn't even worse than she had anticipated.

The four sat in silence as they thought. The ticking of the clock was the only sound that was being made, outside of their breathing.

At last, Heri sat straight once again and gave the Headmaster a fierce look. One that startled him if the look on his face was anything to go by.

"So," she said sharply, no gentleness left in her tone, "how are we doing this?"

* * *

**W**hat not many people realised was that Remus Lupin was actually a coward. He had been since even before he was bitten by Fenrir Greyback when he had been just shy of five years old. He chalked it up as a product of his father being a specialist on Non-Human Spiritous Apparitions, things that terrified the average adult never mind small children, and growing up during You-Know-Who's ascent to power. There was likely some natural disposition problems thrown in to the mix as well. He grew up knowing very well that unimaginable horrors were out there in the big bad world and that he himself was very small.

When no less a person than Headmaster Dumbledore himself had come to offer him a place at Hogwarts, Remus had been equally excited and frightened. He would get to learn magic among the nation's very finest and most powerful! Oh, but he turned into a savage beast every month and could very easily hurt someone. He might finally have friends and other children around to talk to! But he didn't know how to talk to others and they might be able to tell something was wrong with him.

Meeting James and Sirius after he had been Sorted into Gryffindor was a delight Remus had not thought possible. He was already shocked by his Sorting — a Gryffindor? Surely not! He was so certain it would be Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff — but coming face to face with two cheerful and confident boys who truly embodied the House characteristics that also wanted to be his friends was something that still had him disbelieving well into his adulthood.

Friends! He had made friends! Oh, but why did they want to be friends with _Remus_? He was timid while they were bold; he was quiet while they were loud; he wasn't at all like them, so what did they see in him that they thought was worthwhile? The only thing he could think he could offer was homework help, and they did well in academics by themselves. Yet, wonders upon wonders, they stuck with him.

Friendship was a bliss that nothing since could measure up to.

Remus' greatest regret when thinking back on those times was the split second it took for him to decide to befriend Peter Pettigrew.

That was the crux of it all, the mistake that would gnaw at him until the end of his days. It was _Remus_ that extended the hand of friendship to the unimpressive fourth member of their dorm-room, not the easily-bored James, and certainly not the picky Sirius. It was _Remus _that allowed his bleeding heart for underdogs to pull Peter into their circle instead of letting him be overlooked by James' and Sirius' who were naturally more discerning. Hell, the only reason James and Sirius even continued to allow Peter in their presence was because they knew that Remus had taken the short and rather slow boy under his wing.

It was under Remus' own protection that the eventual traitor — a coward like himself — who would get James and his wife killed was allowed to get close enough to betray them. Remus' childish uneasiness about potentially having someone resent him for not including them led to the death of two people he would've easily died for.

During school, it had been fine. Peter had been easily intimidated but never got into any sort of trouble beyond what naturally came from being friends with unrepentant pranksters. He always came off as rather wishy-washy, but he seemed loyal enough to the other three.

Remus functioned as the conscience of their group, but it was admittedly a faulty conscience. James and Sirius occasionally got rather mean with their jokes, and Peter was too weak-willed to say anything beyond the praises of hero-worship, which left Remus out-numbered when it came to discussions of severity. Remus definitely did not approve of their relentless bullying of Lily's childhood friend in a flawed attempt to impress her, but he loved James and Sirius so much, and was so grateful for their acceptance, that he did not stand up to them as much as he knew he should have.

He had let his fear of losing his friends compromise his morals. His fear of being thought of badly worked against him quite often, but he didn't have the courage to change. When they inevitably found out that he was a werewolf, but didn't shun him with impunity, he found himself too attached, too deeply grateful, that he could no longer bring himself to try to reason with them, even when his duty as a Prefect demanded it.

Who else would accept him like his friends did? How could he risk them hating him by getting them into trouble? He couldn't! He couldn't risk it because then they might tell people about his condition and then everyone else would hate him as well! They swore they wouldn't ever tell, but he could still end up alone.

By the time the four of them left school, You-Know-Who's ascendancy was almost complete. True resistance to the evil bastard was concentrated in the underground organisation called the Order of the Phoenix, which all four of them joined. James and Sirius were full of vim and vigour about taking up the good fight, but Remus was half out of his mind with fright most of the time and Peter appeared to live in a constant state of terror.

And then one day Peter merely became anxious and twitchy.

They should have known it then. _Remus _should have known it then, or at least suspected; Peter only ever got that way when he was (badly) trying to hide that he was involved in something he knew would not be approved of.

The death of James and Lily, at the hands of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, was one of the most traumatic events of Remus' life. His friends meant even more to him than he could put into words, because he had long since accepted the fact that most people would treat him as untouchable, and that there could be no possibility of marrying and having children. Even worse, within 24 hours he had also lost his two other best friends. Remus was in the north of the country on Order of the Phoenix business when he heard the horrible news that one of them had murdered the other, and was now in Azkaban, a traitor to the Order and to Lily and James themselves.

The downfall of Voldemort, such a source of jubilation to the rest of the wizarding community, marked the beginning of a long stretch of loneliness and unhappiness for Remus. He had lost his three close friends and, with the Order disbanded, his previous comrades returned to busy lives with their families. His mother was now dead — a casualty in a Death Eater attack — and while his father offered sanctuary, Remus refused to endanger his father's peaceful existence by returning to live with him.

All his fears were coming to life. His friends . . . He was alone . . .

A depression that he never really grew out of plagued him. He assumed it was partially attributed to his condition, his lupine instincts in turmoil at the loss of his 'pack'. Remus began to live a hand-to-mouth existence, taking jobs that even _he_ acknowledged were far below his level of ability, always knowing that he would have to leave them before his pattern of growing sick once a month at the full moon was noticed by his workmates.

Remus' greatest regret when thinking back to this point of his life was not even trying to find out how Heri was being raised. It was a self-loathing cycle that he was too weak to break out of.

Remus had assumed that someone far more competent than he would ever be had taken the appropriate measures to raise Heri in good environment. Why wouldn't they? Heri was exalted as a saviour, the hero they needed when they thought all was lost. She was now the stuff of legends, even worship (he had definitely heard about a religious sect proclaiming that Heri was Neutral Good incarnate, gifted from the gods, because only a pure soul of unaligned goodness could bounce back the inherent evil of the Killing Curse*). She certainly wouldn't need or want a useless, diseased failure like Remus around. She didn't need a person that was a part of the reason she was an orphan looking after her.

In the end, it wasn't a desire to do right by Heri that had him taking up Headmaster Dumbledore's offer of a teaching position, it was his craving for a sense of what he once had and a desire to be in the presence of some small part of James and Lily that was still in the world.

Once again, Albus Dumbledore changed the course of Remus' life when he tracked him down to a tumbledown cottage in Yorkshire. Remus had been working as construction working for a small company that paid well enough by his reckoning. He was amazed when Dumbledore offered him the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, amazed and sceptical. A werewolf working in a school! Being around children! He was only persuaded to accept when the Headmaster explained that there would be a limitless supply of Wolfsbane Potion, courtesy of the resident Potions master.

It was later that Remus learned that the Potions master was Severus Snape, the wretched boy whom Remus had done nothing to prevent his friends from tormenting. Snape's resentment after all those years was disheartening but unsurprising. It wasn't as if Remus didn't believe he fully deserved the hatred as well.

Teaching at Hogwarts was like a dream. The castle was even more magnificent than he remembered, even without the joy of being with his friends. If that wasn't enough, he was able to be near Heri, and it felt like a piece of soul mended back together. There she was, James' and Lily's precious child, the child he had only seem glimpses of between runs to scope out werewolf packs. His heart tugged uncomfortably when he saw that she kept her Potter hair restrained so severely with hair products and ornaments, but then she looked up at him with Lily's beautiful eyes, and James' endearing smile, and a sweet warmth that was all her own, and everything was right again.

His bliss made it so simple to overlook that Heri was unusually small for her age despite the fact that both of her parents had been tall. Her almost painful politeness was written off as a very traditional upbringing. Any niggling doubts were so easily brushed aside as just a quirk of being her own person. He was just so happy to see how well she was growing up.

However, Remus' flaw was at work again. Sirius had broken out of Azkaban, and Remus knew very well that Sirius was an Animagus. It tortured him, knowing that Heri was in danger and that there was something he could very easily do to prevent anything from happening. All he had to do was tell the authorities that Sirius could turn into a great black dog; he should have told someone the moment he heard that Sirius had escaped. But, yet again, he didn't. He didn't tell anyone because they meant telling that the reason he knew Sirius was an Animagus was because Sirius had learned to do it to keep Remus company as a werewolf.

His desperate desire to belong and to be liked meant that he was neither as brave nor as honest as he ought to have been, even when it came to protecting Heri. And in the end, it didn't even matter than he kept Sirius' secret; Snape had outed him in revenge when the end of the year came.

Oh, Remus supposed that it all worked out well for everyone involved in the end. Sirius was discovered to be innocent and Heri was taken in by her godfather as she should have been from the very beginning; Remus was reunited with one of his dearest friends and they were now all living together; he was once again amongst people that saw him for himself instead of condition. All should have been well. But it wasn't.

Remus saw now that his sin of cowardice had stretched to include negligence as well. How had he missed that Heri had been living with people that were — at the very least — verbally abusive? How had it escaped him that no child was ever that watchful and observant of others unless something had happened to them to make them feel the need to constantly be on the look-out?

In an attempt to rectify his short-comings, Remus resolved to remain with Sirius and Heri in any capacity they required of him. Oh, he knew they thought they had talked him into sticking around with a farce of job — "household financial manager" indeed — but the truth of the matter was that Remus had no intention of being without them again for as long as he could manage.

Remus thought his heart had landed it his lower intestines when word got back to him and Sirius that Heri was to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. He spent countless sleepless nights on end with nightmares that Heri would be ripped out of his grasps once more through a horrifying death. How could the people in charge even think about having Heri participate? Sod the magically binding contract, she was a little waif of a girl, not even five feet tall, whose cheeks were still soft with baby-fat!

How could something like that have happened? That was his baby, and she was in deathly danger! Something sinister was obviously afoot!

There were no words to describe how relieved Remus was when Heri was found again after she had been abducted during the Third Task. He had been nearly incoherent with panic, falling into a state not too different from when he was a wolf, all wordless keening and primitive sounds of distress. When they found her, he burst into wracking sobs as too many emotions to keep track of ran through him.

Heri was alive and well! And he had been unable to do anything to prevent her kidnapping in the first place.

The trip to Massachusetts had actually been Remus' idea. Escape the country to lick their wounds before things could get even worse? Sirius didn't have the lack of spine necessary to come up with such an idea. That it actually turned out to be a good holiday spot was purely coincidental. It was lucky that the Potters had a home in the States, but Remus would have suggested the trip even if their only option for accommodations was a wet cardboard box next to a rubbish bin.

Unease rose up when certain things started to go wrong as much as other things got better. Manchester-by-the-Sea was a treasure of a location, but something wasn't right with Heri. None of the doctors they took her to could figure out why she suddenly had fainting fits. Actually, 'fainting' wasn't the right word for it, nor was 'sleeping' even though that was what the Healers eventually concluded it was. Fainting had nothing to do with the way Heri would suddenly collapse like a marionette whose strings were cut; sleeping was definitely not what was happening when she was sprawled in the ground like a dropped rag-doll, her breathing so slow it almost stopped entirely, her eyes only half closed, staring blankly at nothing.

Narcolepsy they called it. Yet another thing out of his control that was trying to kill his child was what Remus called it. It wasn't right; it couldn't be natural.

She was so much paler than before, something he hadn't thought would be possible with how very English her genetics were. He had realised this when he was looking through some pictures he had taken back when they had just moved into Number 12. Before, she had been all peaches and cream, but now her skin was nearly translucent, his eyes easily tracing the blood-vessels that lined her eyelids and throat. It was like the colour was being drained out of her! Even her hair had lightened, the roots fading from what was originally a dark mahogany to a worrying rusty, burnt-orangey auburn, resulting in an ombré that she disguised by how she pinned it up.

In many ways, it was like looking at a ghost, at least a Muggle's interpretation of one. It was like she was dissolving into a spirit right in front of him, and the more her hair colour bled into reds, the more she looked like her mother.

It was starting to appear that Heri might soon end up a ghost in fact as well as appearance. The Dark forces were stirring again, the Dark Lord himself once again re-embodied. The Order had been active once more as soon as it was out that a Death Eater had been trying to bring You-Know-Who back to power.

With every passing day, Remus felt as if Heri was slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts to keep her safe. He knew that Sirius was feeling the same. But what could they do? Everything was being centred around their little girl, and it was only by the skin of their teeth that they hadn't lost her just yet.

When Headmaster Dumbledore came to them with words of a prophesy on his lips, Remus knew that the situation had reached the point where anything he might try to do would be as ineffective as a solitary ant pitting itself against an anteater.

'_The power the Dark Lord knows not . . . either must die at the hand of the other . . ._'

The trigger that caused You-Know-Who to target the Potters in the first place was yet again causing the Dark Lord to prioritise Heri destruction over anything else. No amount of negotiating with werewolf packs or sabotaging Death Eater attacks would be enough to stop the evil bastard from coming after Heri, he was obsessive like that. Nothing short of absolute death would do that, and it now turned out that only Heri herself was capable of accomplishing the task.

Their Heri, the wee little moppet that he could lift with one hand, was supposed to vanquish He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Her feet still couldn't reach the floor when she sat down! Their baby-faced child who still carried around her favourite doll would be required to take on the worst Dark Lord Britain had ever seen?

As discussion began on how the prophesy would be extracted from the Department of Mysteries, Remus could only hold one of Heri's hands within his own, whether in support or as a means of comforting himself he didn't know. He watched on helplessly as Heri donned such a serious, hard expression as it was decided that she would have to become actively involved in the work Professor Dumbledore was doing to destroy what he discovered were anchoring You-Know-Who to life. He listened miserably as he heard her speak so dispassionately about what would be required of her, none of the warmth or happiness he had striven to preserve left in her voice.

"I can no longer afford to care for you as much as I have," Professor Dumbledore told her at one point, his expression despondent but resolved. "I fully expect for your godfathers to manoeuvre with your best interest as prime importance, but I myself must now harden my heart. I can no longer put my affection for you before the lives of our nation."

Remus could tell that Heri didn't hold the Headmaster's declaration against him, she was practical to the point of cold-blooded when it came to matters of her own well-being versus things that needed to be done, but Remus couldn't help the wave of resentment, almost hatred, that filled him. If the life of an individual now meant less than before, what stopped Professor Dumbledore from deciding that other certain individuals within their nation had to be overlooked to save the majority? What was the point of fighting for your nation if the people that made you feel like you were a part of the nation were gone?

His precious child was being marched out like lamb to slaughter. And if that wasn't cruel enough, she was going knowingly, knowing very well they were looking to her to do what they could not.

Oh, how he wanted to protest! How he wanted to declare it madness and whisk her away somewhere far out of danger's reach! Remus wanted nothing more than to hide her away in some tower until any sort of battle was finally over and no one was no longer looking to the Girl Who Lived to save them all. But he didn't. Of course he didn't. He didn't have the courage to declare how little he cared about anyone other than his two precious people, how he would be all too willing to see Britain burn if it meant that Sirius and Heri would live long and happy lives.

What could he do anyway? Even if he did say, "To hell with it!" he didn't have any means of actually getting them away to some place safe. Was there anywhere in the world safe for them? The world was as big and bad as ever, even more so now that he had experienced it first-hand, and after all this time, he was still just so very, _very_ small.

"Remus?" a quiet voice broke through his thoughts.

Remus startled a bit and looked up to see Heri watching him with concern. Between their chairs, Sirius had come to stand with a hand on both of their shoulders, his grip firm and reassuring.

The clock on the mantle showed that it was now just past midnight. Professor Dumbledore had left while Remus wasn't looking. The conversation had last far longer than Remus had realised, and physical exhaustion compounded on his mental exhaustion, making him want to just collapse on the spot and just sleep until any lingering memory of You-Know-Who was long gone. He couldn't though, so instead he gave the two a wan smile and began to stand up.

"We're going to get through this," Heri said suddenly, her hands hooking onto his forearm.

Those tiny, tiny hands. These were the hands that belonged to the person destined to defeat You-Know-Who? They could only wrap around his wrist halfway.

"I know that look on your face, Moony," said Sirius, he also latching Remus in place. "This isn't the time to be giving in to despair."

"Isn't it the perfect time?" Remus contradicted, his lips twitching up into a reluctant smirk.

Sirius _hmph_'ed.

"If we did so every time you thought to, we'd still be in the foetal position in the Shrieking Shack from that time in second year that we found out you were a werewolf."

Heri pat Remus' elbow gently and rested her head on his arm. If it had been someone else, their head would have sat on his shoulder, but Heri's could only reach the lower half of his biceps.

"It's all rather overwhelming right now," she murmured, her eyelids falling to half-mast. "After a good sleep, we'll all feel a lot better. No doubt you'll come up with several ideas of how we'll get through this with as little trouble as possible before breakfast is even over."

Sirius chuckled and ruffled Heri's hair. She had it braided back for bed, but the fringe was loose and easy to fluff.

"You think it'll take as long as breakfast?" he teased her. "That's underestimating Moony's genius mind! No doubt he'll have every step we'll need to take to take out the Dark Bastard properly thought up before he finishes brushing his teeth!"

Remus couldn't help but join in as they shared a sleepy laugh. The wobbly smile on his face did not fall away even after he had returned to his room and climbed into bed.

Remus Lupin was a coward. He was no fierce warrior like Sirius, no steadfast soldier James had been, no fairytale hero like Heri. He was only one unfortunate man in the sea of frightened people who knew very well that there was little they could do against the Dark Lord's forces. He was one of the most terrified souls out there because he knew better than anyone else exactly what the possibilities were. He had lived through those possibilities. But for _them_ — his parents, who had never given up on him; Lily and James, whom he had failed; _Sirius and Heri, _who insisted on believing in him _after all his failures . . ._

Remus Lupin was a coward — but for them, he would be brave.

* * *

**W**ithin the midlands of England, in a large but poor industrial town, a chilly mist drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up, shadowy and ominous. There was no sound at this time at night apart from the whisper of the black water, and no sign of life apart from a scrawny fox that had slunk down the bank to nose hopefully at some old fish-and-chip wrappings in the tall grass. All the families — impoverished workers, the lot — had already turned in for the night in anticipation for an early start the next day.

Suddenly, with a faint _pop, _two hooded figures, one very distinctly taller than the other, appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The two took a moment to regain their bearings.

The taller one reach out a hand to the shorter one, presumably to give reassurance, but was rebuffed by the their diminutive companion stepping out of reach. The two appeared to hesitate for a moment, sizing each other up, before the taller of the pair took the lead and set off with quick strides across green, their cloak rustling over the grass. After a split-second of indecision, the smaller one followed.

At the top of the bank were a line of old railings separated the river from a narrow, cobbled street. As the pair strode forward, they couldn't help but note that across the road had rows and rows of dilapidated brick houses, their windows dull and blind in the darkness. They slipped through a gap in the rusty railings and crossed the road to move through an alley between the houses into a second, almost identical street. Some of the street lamps were broken; the two walked quickly between patches of light and deep darkness.

They moved deeper into the deserted labyrinth of brick houses and hurried up a street named Spinner's End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Their footsteps echoed on the cobbles as they passed boarded and broken windows, until they reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room.

Without faltering, the taller of the pair strode up to the door of this house and used the scuffed knocker to pound the door smartly.

They stood in wait, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze. After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door, and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.

"Headmaster," said Severus Snape, his expression nowhere near delighted, but not exactly displeased either. His eyes flickered to the shorter figure standing at Dumbledore's left. "And Miss Potter as well I see. Do come in."

"Good evening, sir," the girl murmured perfunctorily as Dumbledore bid his thanks.

They stepped directly into a tiny sitting room, which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. The place had an air of neglect, as though it was not usually inhabited.

"Sit down if you like," said Severus, coming up behind them. He directed them toward the sofa. "I'll fetch us some tea."

Severus spent the next few minutes arranging a tray with some hot water he had left in the kettle, tea leaves, small pitchers of milk and sugar, and a plate of some shortbread biscuits he didn't remember purchasing. He then brought it over and set it on the table between the armchair and sofa, clearing the table off of a few unopened letters.

"Do not hesitate to help yourselves," he said, sitting down in the remaining open seat.

As his two guests voiced their thanks, Severus took in the sight of them. Both looked rumpled and exhausted, the bags under Dumbledore's eyes even more pronounced than usual. Their faces were pale and drawn in, the girl looking positively wretched, as if she would drop dead on the ground at any second. Hell, she even wore the most unpleasant expression he had ever seen on her face, though it was still just on the side of bothered were it anyone else. Judging by the stiff way she was holding herself, the dismal state of those gloves she had been wearing since the damned tournament, and the way Dumbledore covertly glanced at her every few seconds, something troubling had happened.

And, naturally, they had come to him to do something about it.

When the lull had gone on long enough, Severus addressed the headmaster.

"You have never before visited me within my home, Headmaster," he said, giving the older man a steady look. "I was not anticipating a Patronus message requesting to do so."

"I apologise for the short notice, Severus," Dumbledore said wearily. "A situation came up suddenly and it would have been remiss to not have it taken care of at once. No doubt you have already gathered that we require your assistance on a matter."

"Such a matter involves Miss Potter as well?" Severus rejoined mockingly. "I did not think the pair of mutts allowed her to risk her neck in dealings beyond her modest capabilities."

Severus had severely mixed feelings about the Potter chit, feelings that were only exacerbated by the fact that the girl hardly resembled either of her late parents beyond the cosmetic traits. He disliked being indecisive almost as much as he currently disliked the regretfully unincarcerated Black, so he typically avoided her altogether, never talking to her outside what was strictly necessary.

He didn't know what it was, but trying to be his usual caustic self with her was rather like being in a room full of baby animals and having no choice but to deliberately step on a puppy. There was horror of the Dear-God-what-have-I-done?! type that you had inadvertently harmed such an innocuous creature, and then the encompassing panic that you would undoubtedly do so again because you couldn't leave without doing so at least once more. Severus was as much a slave as anyone else to the inborn human instinct of trying to protect things that looked babyish no matter how much he disliked children, and — curse it all — Heri Potter provoked all his protective instincts with her green doe eyes set in a face so much like a young Lily. Had this been a world where he and Lily never fell out and he had ended up the girl's father or godfather, he didn't doubt he would dote just as idiotically on her as Black did.

It was only on this occasion that he felt remorselessly free to torment her, being because the ruffled, almost petulant look on her face was much like one her blasted bastard of a sire often wore when Lily rebuffed him.

Seeing a face like Lily's pulling James Bloody Potter's expressions ignited a furious agony in Severus' stomach whenever the occasions came about. Reminders of the fact that he had ruined everything with a careless burst of anger, and had allowed Potter to snatch up his dearest treasure. He wanted to strangle the girl as much as he wanted to hold her and never let go. Most of the time, that face was set in a soft, wide-eyed expression, paired with a quiet, nearly meek disposition that neither of her parents had been capable of. Lily being soft-spoken? James Potter being conscientious of his words? One might as well expect Lucius Malfoy to donate his entire wealth to a charity for Muggles. But little Potter wore those traits well, so well that on nearly every occasion that he had found to berate her, he would feel a pang of guilt.

Not so on this occasion though. She must have been in a truly foul mood, he had only heard rumour of her temper before and none of them mentioned an actual frown like Severus was seeing currently.

At his derogatory words, the girl's slight frown turned into a moue of distinct displeasure as she gave him a flinty stare from under hooded eyelids. Severus felt the hair on his arms raise under his long sleeves; he'd had a similar look directed at him before from Bellatrix Lestrange during her saner periods.

"My dodgy talents aside," the girl said lowly, her tone startlingly unimpressed and disrespectful, "I reckon it's a damned good thing I was around tonight, else _Professor Dumbledore_ 'ere woulda either made short work o' poppin' his bloody clogs, or ended up completely off 'is chump, primed for the soddin' _loony bin_ right now. An' the rest of us woulda been shit outta luck tryin' ta off tha' tosspot of a Dark wanker!"

Severus was visibly taken aback. If the vulgar language wasn't enough, the girl's inflection degraded until it was better suited to the wretched guttersnipes that roamed Cokesworth! Merciful Merlin, he _knew_ that Black moron was a bad influence on her! What in the world was Lupin _doing_?

"Mind your mouth when in my house!" Severus reprimanded harshly. "Black may let you speak as you like, but children will maintain a civil tongue in my presence!"

He was upbraiding Heri Potter,_ a little Hufflepuff Prefect, _for speaking as if she lived on a canal barge. He hadn't even known before that she could be anything other than mild-mannered, never mind that there was an attitude hidden underneath all that fluff! Good Lord, it was like witnessing a hamster devour a human limb.

The girl did not apologise. Instead, she huffed at him and nibbled on a biscuit pointedly.

Severus noted that Dumbledore did nothing to refute Potter's self-celebratory claim, nor did he scold her for her crude and low-brow language. The headmaster merely winced and stared into his tea forlornly.

"Nothing to say, Headmaster?" Severus asked, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat.

The old man sighed.

"While somewhat indelicately put, Miss Potter's words are quite true. I do not doubt I would not have lived to see the morrow had I remained unaccompanied in my venture this evening."

"Tell 'im how ya tried to take me with ya," the girl snapped. "Tell 'im how ya jumped right outta yer bleedin' rocker fer a ruddy rock y'knew damn well had been cursed!"

"Hold your tongue, girl!" Severus barked. "Noisy brats should be silent when adults are talking!"

The girl turned and actually snarled at him!

It looked like she was ready to jump at him if it wasn't for Dumbledore placing a restraining hand on her shoulder. She then flinched violently and scooted as far away as she could on the sofa. As he had heard from the Slytherin Quidditch team that it happen on the Hogwarts express back in her third year, things started shaking, books falling off the shelves, a lamp shattering out.

Inexplicably, what looked like a tentacle flew out from behind her back and wrapped itself around Dumbledore's wrist. It yanked the hand from the girl's person and flung it back at the startled old man before weaving in the air in front of him in an obviously threatening manner.

Severus' jaw actually fell open. His arm flew up automatically, his wand in his hand.

"What the devil is that?!" he hollered, jumping to his feet.

"Nothing to worry about, Severus!" Dumbledore declared, raising his hands in a show of non-aggression.

Nothing to worry about? A tentacle had come out of nowhere! And the girl was causing a miniature earthquake! The bookshelves themselves were stuttering against the floor. Severus' muggle neighbours whose home adjoined his probably thought a train had derailed!

Though he had spoken to Severus, Dumbledore was still looking at the girl.

"I beg your pardon, my dear!" he apologised earnestly. "I did not intend to frighten you."

As if the situation was not strange enough, the girl appeared to be flickering in and out of chromatic saturation, as if she were an old fashion television that wasn't tuned quite right. All the while, her pupils and irises were expanding and retracting, her eyes going from human to almost completely black, like those of an animal. Meanwhile, Severus was casting spells on his furniture to keep them from smacking against each other and being destroyed.

"Potter!" Severus bellowed. "Desist from your dramatics before the authorities are called in!"

"Heri, my dear girl, you're safe here," the Headmaster said, his tone becoming soothing. "We are with Professor Snape, in his home, and you know that he takes your welfare very seriously."

Though Severus doubted the words were any actual comfort, Potter drew in a ragged breath and appeared to reign in the strange phenomenon. Her flickering stopped altogether after a moment, and her eyes settled back into their usual large but human size. The tentacle thing stayed though.

"Am I going to receive any answers tonight?" Severus snarled, shaken and confused. He had not yet lowered his wand though his grip did loosen.

Keeping an eye on the twitchy girl, Dumbledore finally obliged Severus by explaining what the Hell had happened.

Apparently, for quite a while now, Dumbledore had been researching Dark methods that the Dark Lord could have possibly used to remain on the mortal plan when any other should have moved on. Countless hours and long nights had yielded a likely answer in the form of a strange type of anchor, tying his disembodied soul to life, known amongst forbidden texts as a horcrux. He theorised that the Dark Lord had several of them, considering how the one that had been discovered before, the diary that had possessed the Weasley girl a few years back, had been used as a weapon instead of being kept hidden. Dumbledore had concluded the Dark Lord's horcruces were things he placed great importance in.

And so, because she had experienced a horcrux before, as well as being in need of knowledge of how to combat the Dark Lord, the Potter girl was brought along to assist the Headmaster on his expedition to destroy the wretched things.

The first excursion had been just earlier that evening, to the home of the late Gaunt family, who were apparently the family the Dark Lord's mother had come from. (Severus couldn't really imagine the Dark Lord being an infant, never mind being born from something as innocuous as a human mother; surely such an iniquitous beast had spawned into existence when the earth cracked open a hell-mouth, releasing a demon into the world.) The Gaunts were accounted to be as insane and vicious as the Dark Lord himself, albeit nowhere near as powerful. The Headmaster had decided to search there first because he had been given a memory that contained mention of two items that could have been turned into horcruces, items that were said to be heirlooms of the Slytherin family.

It turned out that the village they arrived at, Little Hangleton, was the same village that contained the graveyard the girl had been abducted to, and the Gaunt Shack was a place she had wandered into when she was escaping into the village proper. Severus would have been more surprised if he hadn't already known the brat's propensity for finding herself in the exact places she should not be. And if that wasn't enough, the horcrux they were looking for, the ring that the Dark Lord's grandfather, Marvolo Gaunt, had claimed belonged to their Head of House, had been found by the girl the last time she was there. In fact, she had been wearing it since then!

"How was I supposed to know it was something like that?" the girl muttered when Dumbledore spoke of her find with exasperation. She had come back to her usual calm, but still had yet to return to her manners. "It's pretty enough I suppose, but it was a plain ring that was left in an abandoned house. Not exactly the Crown Jewels, was it?"

This was the point when Severus became confused about why what had happened had happened at all.

The Potter girl took over the explanation to tell Severus that Dumbledore had taken one good look at the ring on her finger before going absolutely out of his mind.

"You should have seen his face! I've seen less hungry looks on stray animals!"

By her account — which the headmaster did not refute — he had first tried to coax her into taking the ring off and giving it to him, but soon degenerated into physically trying to removed the bit of jewellery from her person, even outright shaking her at one point.

"He eventually managed to touch it," she said, "but pulled back when his fingers started turning black. It felt like I'd been smacked across the hand, but it must have felt much worse for Professor Dumbledore, because he gave a right _gruesome_ howl before the blackness went away."

All the while, she said, he had been babbling something about "the stone!", his expression growing increasingly more manic than she had ever seen outside of the criminally insane.

(Severus then wondered how it came about that she had been in the presence of the unlawfully unhinged so often that she could pinpoint their nuanced characteristics, but he kept the question to himself, not sure if he truly wanted to know.)

Severus wasn't sure what to think. Had there been a curse on the ring to induce obsession? Was that why Dumbledore had been so determined to lay hand on it? But would have been the point? What had caused his fingers to turn black and why had the girl not been affected the same?

Severus asked the last question out loud.

"I believe it to be a curse of a sort," Dumbledore answered. "Though why Heri is not being affected I do not know. It's possible that Voldemort placed an intention-based magic on it so that anyone that knew what it was would perish."

"That sounds far too lenient for the Dark Lord," Severus contradicted. "It would be more to his usual method to simply have it that anyone that found it would die."

"Besides," the girl chimed in, "I _was_ affected in a way. _Something_ certainly happened when it was almost taken from me."

"Perhaps we should try . . . ?" Dumbledore began only to trail off at the distrustful look on the girl's face. He sighed with resignation. "I mean Professor Snape of course, my dear."

Severus was not eager to lay hand on a cursed object, but he was equally reluctant to have said object remain in the hands of a child he strove to keep alive and preferably _un_cursed. He fetched a silk cloth — the best precaution to contain Dark objects — and made to pull the ring from the girl's finger.

Barely two seconds after it had been removed, Potter gasped painfully as jagged black veins crawled up from where the ring had sat. She yelped as her fingers appeared to curl into themselves without her direction. As she cradled the hand to her chest, they could see the flesh of the appendage blackening and withering.

Severus tugged the girl's hand back out and jammed the ring back on, blood pounding in his ears. She gave another gasp, but this time it was less of pain and more of relief.

As they observed, the damaged retreated. Within a breathless moment that lasted far longer than Severus would have liked, the hand returned to its previous good health, though it was twitching from remembered pain.

"I had assumed it had something to do with Heri's apparent immunity to Voldemort's most malicious magic," Dumbledore said after they regained their wits. "I had believed it had something to do with the protection Lily had left within her blood. I now suppose it has something to do with the nature of the ring itself that's stops the wearer from coming to deathly harm."

"What nature could the Dark Lord's trinket have that it would stop one that was being cursed by the Dark Lord from succumbing?" asked Severus, keeping an eye on the girl as she stared at the ring with shock.

"In truth," Dumbledore replied, "I do not think Voldemort knows of its nature, which is why he made it into one of his anchor's. It is the stone upon the ring that is key. The stone is part of a set of objects that, when brought together, is supposed to grant the wielder power over death."

Severus frowned at the man.

"What objects do you speak of?" he questioned. "I've never hear of any such artefacts."

"Is that why you were so insistent on getting it from me?" the girl asked, looking up again.

Dumbledore sighed.

"Alas, I had been fascinated by the research of them when I was young. I regret that I let myself be so overcome that I became easily influenced."

"I'll say you were," the girl agreed, disapproval apparent. "It must have been some shock if it got you to pull your wand on me."

Severus threw a sharp look at the headmaster, his expression not softening even when taking in the older man's sorrowful and ashamed mien.

Attacking a child was something not easily forgiven, even by Severus who would have been happier if people sprung fully grown into the world. Attacking _Lily's daughter_, the child Severus had Vowed to keep safe and had come to be fond of in his own painfully reluctant way, was a sin he could team up with Black and Lupin to correct. Dumbledore knew very well that the only loyalty Severus had left in the world was to the well-being of Heri Potter; he had some nerve coming to Severus' home and admitting he had been a personal danger to her.

Dumbledore reclaimed the detailing of what happened to admit that he very likely would have done something unforgivable had it not been for tentacles springing out of nowhere to disarm and bind him. He had been taken off guard enough that he had been whacked thoroughly over the head and ended up under wandpoint by his own wand. He said this ruefully, looking over his wand with a bittersweet expression Severus didn't understand.

The tentacles, as Dumbledore learned, were actually extensions of the girl. Severus found this hard to accept until the girl in question obligingly sprouted another, this time from the visible part of her shoulder that wasn't covered by her shirt.

Severus stared at the inexplicable limbs which drifted and rippled in the air as if they were underwater. They were about the same colour as the girl's skin but a bit pinker, much like the palms of her hands. They looked to be two of her fingers in thickness, and of indeterminable length considering how they lengthened and shortened sporadically under his gaze. If that wasn't all impossible enough, they seemed to demonstrate different emotion than she was exhibiting, one still hovering in front of Dumbledore, weaving like a defensive snake, the other was twisting and dipping in a shy manner, as if curious about the room.

". . .What?"

Severus didn't know what else to say.

"These are my tendrils," the girl said, looking put out for whatever reason. "They're vestigial limbs that I can wield when two hands aren't enough."

What in Hell was Severus supposed to say to _that_?

He settled with, "Do you even know what 'vestigial' means, Potter?" because, honestly, there was nothing that looked particularly underdeveloped about them.

By this time, she had fully mellowed, so, instead of snapping back as he assumed she would have if he had continued prodding her earlier, she gave him a flat look so bland he imagined that he could no longer taste the tea he had been drinking.

"'Vestigial' means underdeveloped, incomplete, or fundamental, sir," she replied, her tone impeccably polite once again, and this time Severus assumed it was mockingly so. "Since my tendrils contain no bones, joints, or even actual flesh, I don't consider them true limbs."

Great. Marvellous. Just what Severus wanted to hear when common sense decided to take a holiday. Absolutely swell. Maybe next the impossible girl would grow a set of wings out of her arse, because why not?

"And what in Merlin's name have you done to yourself that you now have these 'vestigial limbs'?" Severus growled. He had thought her more intelligent than to muck about with magic beyond her knowledge. He should have known that _any_ child under Sirius Black's dubious care, no matter how sensible, would get involved in something so moronic that it would be a miracle they weren't dying in St. Mungo's terminal ward.

The little chit narrowed her eyes at him again, albeit this time coldly.

"I did _nothing_ to get them," she declared. "They're natural. I developed them in third year because of all the dementors about."

Severus sucked in a breath through his nose and rubbed his face with a hand. If the girl would start _making sense_ maybe they would actually get somewhere!

"There is no known condition of turning into some sort of humanoid cephalopod when coming into contact with soul-sucking spirits!" he barked. "Explain yourself properly, or I will assume you are being possessed by a long departed cthulhu and exorcise you accordingly!"

Both of her so-called 'tendrils' reacted to the show of aggression, whipping forward to lashed the air in his direction, rather similar in manner to Hogwarts' giant squid. They lengthened before two more tendrils spawned, this time coming from the girl's other side. As he glared, they actually sharpened at the ends, the second pair growing spikes.

He eyed them warily. Perhaps provoking an already jumpy brat who had powers he currently knew nothing about wasn't the best idea. Still, the annoying titch had some nerve, actually threatening him, in his own home no less!

"Heri . . ." Dumbledore began carefully. He also had a careful eye on the menacing things. "Professor Snape does not mean to threaten you. He is simply overwrought and is responding by casting out his frustration with his words."

Damn the old berk for making Severus sound like a right brat in the middle of a temper tantrum. Even if it was true, there was no reason to word it in such a way in front one of their students.

The girl didn't appear to appreciate Dumbledore's words either. Looking a touch embarrassed, she reached out her hands and physically pulled the agitated limbs away from Severus.

"I know that," she said in response, flicking one of the spiked ones. "But that doesn't mean I can stop them from reacting automatically to what they think is a danger to me."

"Are you saying you can't control yourself?" Severus sneered. He jolted back when a sharpened one lunged at him, only held back from lancing him through the face by the girl yanking it back before it could reach him.

"I'm _saying_ that they respond instinctively," she rejoined, giving him a pointed look. "And you'd be best off holding back you bile while they're out. I suppose I _am_ a bit like a humanoid cephalopod; they obey me for the most part, but they are fully capable of responding independently. And they don't understand words, only tone and intention. If I need something, they'll pick it up; if I'm in danger, they'll attack. Rather like the ophidians on a gorgon I suppose."

"Then put them away for Merlin's sake!" Severus snapped. "And then sprout another one that isn't so short-tempered so we can get a proper look at it!"

The girl huffed but did as she was told. Four visibly objecting tendrils were drawn back in and replaced with a much more mild-mannered one.

Severus stayed on guard. After seeing what the earlier ones were like, he wouldn't be surprised if the present one suddenly became aggressive as well. The way it was behaving now reminded Severus quite a bit of how the brat it was attached to usually behaved, and he now knew that there was actually a snarling hell-spawn hiding underneath that lulling front.

In a way, this proof of temper gladdened Severus. The girl had always been so dissimilar to her parents; it was a relief to discover that a facet of Lily's personality, if only her hair-trigger temper, lived on. Granted, the girl's triggers were not as abundant as Lily's had been, but when prod just right, her claws certainly came flying.

When it proved to be untroubled by their approach, Severus and Dumbledore examined the tendril with fascination. As the girl said, it contained nothing within a proper limb, a quick medical diagnostic spell proved that. In fact, it gave off a reading quite similar to scarring caused by Dark magic, more magic than physical matter.

Severus gave it an experimental tug, stretching it a bit. He noted that it had an elasticity similar to rubber. It also had the most curious feel to it, being softer and smoother than anything he had ever felt before, even silk.

"Like a baby's cheek," Dumbledore murmured as he twirled it about, testing the flexibility of it. "How many can you maintain at a time?"

"No more than eight so far," she answered. "I dunno if that's my limit or if I have to work at it to get more, but I've found the more I have out, the less the tendrils can do it terms of sprouting spikes and the like. I think it's a matter of being able to divide my attention."

"And you say it was caused by being in the presence of dementors?" Severus asked, looking up to check the girl's expression.

Her cheeks were a bit pink, but her expression had not changed from her standard look of polite and unjudging attention. He now suspected this was a mask for her true feelings. Either that or she had a severe personality and mood disorder.

"Yes, Professor," she replied. (Oh, they were back to 'Professor' now, were they? She really was a cheeky thing.) "It began when I fell from my broom during that Quidditch match with the dreadful rain. When they surrounded me, it triggered what the centaurs are calling my 'phantom form.' After that—"

"What do the centaurs have to do with anything?" Severus cut in, releasing his hold on her tendril so that his attention would not be divided.

"They've been helping me train my abilities since my second year, sir," she answer, as if this was a perfectly typical thing for the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest to be doing.

She had to be behaving deliberately obtuse. There was no way she could possibly believe that all this was normal!

"And why have they been training you, my dear?" inquired Dumbledore, perfectly unperturbed.

Severus rarely appreciated it, but Dumbledore really did have the patience an unflappability of a saint. Severus wondered what they old codger had put up with before that a defensive Heri Potter not following any school of logic was not something to pull one's hair out about.

"The centaurs saved me from the acromantulas that Hagrid suggested I talk to when they decided they would rather eat me than talk," the girl said, as infuriatingly nonchalant as she usually was.

Severus gnashed his teeth. They would be having _words_ about her gadding about the Forbidden Forest later! What else had she gotten up to when he thought she was tucked away in the safety of the castle?

"After I gave one of them a good talking to for bad-mouthing Hagrid for being a bit thoughtless," she carried on, "the two that came to talk to me said that since they had discovered me, they had to train me, and that I was the first one they had discovered in a long time. I wondered why they'd never trained one of the others from the castle, but I suppose none of the others have come into contact with the centaurs at all, never mind when they didn't know. Care of Magical Creatures lessons don't usually involve meeting the centaurs, do they?"

"'One of the others'?" Severus echoed. "One of the other students? Why in the world would the centaurs want to educate Hogwarts students in anything at all?"

The girl blinked rapidly for a moment as she stared at them with incomprehension. After a moment, a look of understanding then dawned on her face.

"Oh, did I not mention it before?" she said, looking abashed. "I'm a demigod. That's why they wanted to train me."

* * *

**AN: **Yea for being back! Did ya'll notice my change in writing style? No more blocks with huge time-skips! If you've read any of my other stuff, you'll know it's not my preferred style, and I'm actually really happy to 'zoom in' so to speak instead of cranking out the most important parts without too much personality. Do you like the shift? On this occasion, I really would appreciate some extra feedback. C:

*This little aside to how people see Heri was inspired by **Growing Pains** by SensiblyTainted, a Drarry fic that's a real tear-jerker. Honestly, many of you might have already read it since it was written back in 2005-06. It's practically a HP fanfic classic. Obviously it's slash, and it gets a little cliché in places, but it's well worth the read if you're looking for a plot-driven story with dashes of romance.

**Also: **A brofist to anyone that caught the reference I not-so-subtly sneaked in there.


	9. The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt 2

**AN: **Hey, ya'll! It's Noose back at it with another chapter! What's this? Not even a full week after the last one? I actually started this chapter before I posted the previous one, but I didn't expect to finish so quickly! I was inspired by the reviews from the last chapter so much that it just happened! I worked through my lunch times and evenings and got this out the quickest I've even gotten a chapter done. This one's for you, anonymous guest that wrote that super long review! Your appreciation gave me wings! *jumps up and flies away*

And it's finally here! **A godly parent will be revealed!** I hope you're all properly shocked when you read it, and that you look forward to the future chapter where the next one will become known!

On another note, yay for all the people that caught the KHR reference! Granted, it was as unsubtle as I said, but I like knowing that I share other interests with so many of you!

Also, please leave a review when you're done. Leave your thoughts and suggestions, even if it's an idea for another crossover. I get inspiration from all sorts of things, but new ideas just charge me right up!

* * *

**Chapter Nine: The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt. 2**

* * *

**H**alf a month before the start of the term, over a week since Professor Dumbledore and Heri had recruited Severus Snape to join them in destroying Voldemort's anchors, the three of them travelled from the Headmaster's office to the Ministry Headquarters. Professor Snape had heard murmurs from the Death Eaters that plans were being made to retrieve something from the Department of Mysteries, and Professor Dumbledore had concluded that Voldemort intended to hear the prophecy in its entirety. So, to gain the upper hand, it was decided that the three of them would retrieve it before the opposition could move forward.

As a way of preventing the eyes of the Death Eaters in the Ministry from taking note of Professor Snape being involved in something he had not reported to Voldemort, they floo'd directly into the Department of Mysteries' front office.

The two men arrived in dignified manners, but Heri's allergy of all magical travel methods besides flying had her stumbling out of the fireplace like a drunkard. The only reason she did not fall to the ground was because she tripped into Professor Snape's back instead, nearly making him stumble as well.

With a blush of embarrassment and a murmur of apology, she allowed herself to be aided upright by Professor Dumbledore as Professor Snape gave her a blank look she couldn't decipher. He didn't seem angry at least.

Since the fiasco of a get-together at Professor Snape's home, both gentlemen were now looking at Heri with . . . she couldn't say more _respect_, because Professor Snape certainly didn't respect _anyone_, never mind _Heri_, but there was certainly something of a higher measure of regard toward her competence. As strange as it was, they no longer looked at her as some fragile prize that needed to be protected, something she hadn't realised they had been doing until they stopped. This was not unexpected from Professor Dumbledore since he had already addressed his intentions of putting the future of the wizarding world before her personal safety, but it was exceedingly strange in Professor Snape, because he had always treated her with a 'gentle touch' he hadn't even granted to first years for as long as she had known him.

She wondered if Professor Snape realised he'd always given her preferential treatment before. It wasn't as obvious as actually being kind — heavens forbid he actually show some common decency — but he showed a marked lack of animosity that he seemed to have for the world at large toward her. Heri hadn't known anyone could loathe more or less everything as much as Professor Snape appeared to, but that hostility was subdued when it came to Heri. Of course, he was too prideful to favour her as he did his Slytherins, but he ignored her during lessons and didn't say a word to anyone who partnered with her, even when they were melting cauldrons, something that happened quite often when her partners got intimidated by his baleful glower.

After establishing that Heri wasn't joking in the least bit when she said she was a demigod, the two men began flinging questions at her rapid-fire. She was questioned on everything, from her heritage to how many others she knew of. Apparently, those of divine descent were actually a bit more scarce than her comrades at Hogwarts had led her to believed. Oh, they were known to exist, but they had been retreating since World War I, and one had not let themselves be known by the 'unendowed' (as Ernie politically-correctly put it) since the beginning of World War II.

Heri didn't really understand why it had to be such a big secret — it wasn't like wizards were Muggles or anything — but she didn't reveal the identities of the other semi-divine students that she knew of; it would have felt like a betrayal of their trust. However, she _did_ let the two professors know that there was always a dozen or more at Hogwarts during any given school year. The headmaster was positively giddy at the thought!

"But how can two fully human parents make a demigod?" Professor Snape had demanded, looking ready to shake her. "Neither of your parents were gods!"

"You can't know that, Severus," Professor Dumbledore had countered. "They've often lived amongst us without being discovered. It's not out of the question that Lily or maybe James had been a deity in disguise."

Professor Snape had looked primed to bust a vein at the thought, but Heri soon put forward all the possibilities she knew of.

"It's been known to happen that a god will disguise themselves as a person's spouse to procreate with them," she had said tonelessly, noting that Professor Snape looked even more upset at this thought. "A god might also possess a person so that the resulting child has technically _three_ parents. It also might come about that a god creates a child from pure thought, though I've been told that's usually limited to creation and intelligence-based deities. The point is: I don't know how I'm a demigod, only that I am one, and that both my mortal parents were true parents in every definition of the word."

Honestly, she didn't know why they were so amazed. Sure, it had been a while, but demigods weren't exactly on the verge of extinction. Heri thought of them a bit like people who had wide singing ranges or naturally violet eyes: they were rare and admirable traits, but nothing earth-shattering.

It was Dumbledore that ending up explaining that one.

Apparently, Grindelwald — the Dark menace of Europe before Voldemort — had used Adolf Hitler, a son of Hades, to be the muggle face for his war on Muggles.***** With Hitler at the forefront, they then deceived other demigods to join the cause. After discovering they were being exploited, wizarding demigods en masse retreated even further away from the public eye, not even the proudest of the previously known lines bragging about it any longer. So long had it been since a wizarding demigod had announced themselves that people no longer knew if even the lines that had previously been well known for their descent were producing any more children who were blessed with divinity.

Even without knowing if she was anywhere near as powerful as the famous demigods of old, before they could suppress it, Professors Dumbledore and Snape had looked at her as if she had descended from upon high to answer their pious prayers. Admittedly, she was not unused to such looks being directed at her, especially from the religious sects, but seeing it being given by people who knew her personally, whom she knew very well were amongst the upper echelons of their nation's power-based social meritocracy . . . well, it was unsettling to say the least. Demigoddess or not, experienced with monster-slaying or not, allegedly the most powerful witch of her age or not, Heri was a teenage girl who hadn't even finished her education yet.

Honestly, show a bloke a bit of battle experience and it was suddenly no more free candy or hand-holding. This was only metaphorical in Professor Snape's case, but the sentiment was the same.

Truthfully, it was a bit lonely to no longer be 'coddled' by the Potions Master; he'd been the only person outside of Sirius and Remus that knew she was capable of handling herself for the most part but still thought to mind for her safety. At least now she could relax back from her strict civility reserved for people that thought her more a symbol than a person and finally be the cheeky brat she had always wanted to be in response to Professor Snape's abrasive sarcasm. She owed him quite a few headaches for his jabs at how Sirius and Remus were raising her.

Presently, they had landed in a very cluttered but spacious office that seemed to be overwhelmed by towers of folders, and sheaves of parchment and paper, all stacked precariously about the room and clearly held upright solely through magic. There were also boxes upon boxes, each labelled with numbers and letters, and accented by the occasional stack of books.

A man was standing behind a large (and also cluttered) desk, having obviously been waiting for them. He was wearing dark navy-blue robes with sleeves that were buttoned tightly against his forearms before they blossomed out loosely at his the start of his elbows. The garment reminded Heri of the sort that Professor Snape always wore to prevent his clothing from interfering with his brewing. The hood of the man's outer-robe was up, and it cast a shadow across his face. It appeared to be magically obscuring the man's face, because the lighting in the room shouldn't have cast such a dark shadow.

Fascinating, Heri thought. She had been thinking of becoming an Unspeakable back when she received advice on career-aiming back in fifth-year. Professor Sprout had mentioned it as a possibility when she noted Heri's marks in Runes, Divination, and Arithmancy. Heri hadn't known about the Department's uniform before, but she thought it to be right impressive.

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries, Miss Potter, Mr Dumbledore, Mr Snape," the man said briskly, nodding his head at each of them. "I am Unspeakable Mannaz-2-Theta. I will escort you to your destination."

He then addressed the two men.

"It would be in your best interest to not touch any of the prophecy orbs. They have been made so only the subjects of the prophecy within may make physical contact with them without causing damage to the person."

Professor Dumbledore looked unsurprised but inclined his head in acknowledgement. Professor Snape frowned but made no comment.

"All wands, magical objects, and the like must be left here," the Unspeakable continued, motioning to a wire container sitting on the edge of the desk. "The Department of Mysteries does not allow unauthorised magic within the premises, as they may interfere with projects currently being worked on."

Professor Snape outright scowled at this.

"You expect us to go about unarmed through an unknown location?" he scoffed. "This department is still being inspected for corruption, it would not be a stretch to be concerned for our safety because of this lack of assurance."

Heri got the impression that the Unspeakable was narrowing his eyes at Professor Snape.

"Be that as it may," said the Unspeakable, "no non-personnel may enter while still holding their wand."

The two contradicting men had a silent stare-off for approximately ten seconds before Professor Dumbledore settled the matter by putting his wand in the receptacle and looking at Professor Snape expectantly. Professor Snape all but growled with displeasure but surrendered his wand all the same.

Heri did the same before looking to the Unspeakable for further instruction.

"_All_ wands and the like, Miss Potter," he reiterated, his tone stern.

She blinked at him blankly for a moment before she realised what he was talking about. Cheeks heating with embarrassment again, this time for being slow on the uptake, she began removing her disguised foci.

She had been caught up in paranoia since Dumbledore had gone mad when they were at the Gaunt Shack. Well, more paranoia than usual. It wasn't easy working with someone who had admitted they would sacrifice you if the occasion called for it. Since then, she had been taking to wearing as many of her foci — both re-usable and disposable — as possible, transfiguring their ornamental parts each day to match her outfits so she wouldn't get strange looks. She was rather certain that Sirius and Remus thought that she was going through a frivolous phase because of the pressure of having a prophecy dropped on her head.

Ah, well. At the very least Megan, Hannah, and Sally-Anne were tickled at getting to dress her up so often. They had done so on that day as well, though they were disappointed they wouldn't be allowed to come along too. Her friends didn't actually know what Heri was getting up to when she had no time to gad about with them, but they seemed to be under the assumption that she was off doing exciting, heroic things. Pity that reality wasn't nearly as fun as fantasy.

On that day, she was wearing a stack of bangles on one arm, a modest-looking stone pendant around her neck, a charm anklet hidden by her long skirt, and a collection of pearl-topped grips on top of her usual hair-sticks; all that she could get away with because of the professional setting of the day's appointment. She had actually been thinking about getting piercings so she could haul around more. She hadn't expected to be required to surrender her emergency supplies, let alone be identified as having them.

"How did you even know?" she asked, a little put out, pulling out the last of her hair ornaments and tossing it in with the rest. She then hiked up one side of her skirt a bit so she could step out of her shoe and slide off the anklet. "The point of having these at all is because no one would think they're anything besides what they look like!"

"There are spells within this office to detects such things," the Unspeakable answered simply.

While Professor Dumbledore looked amused, Professor Snape had on the same unreadable expression as before, this time mixed with alarm.

"Who gave you alternative foci?" Professor Snape demanded. "No craftsman in Diagon would sell them to an unlicensed witch, let alone an under-age one!"

Heri was a bit chagrined at be caught 'red-handed' so to speak, and looked at the Potions Master in askance as she ran her fingers through her roots and fished out a bobble from her pocket. She began tying up her now unpinned hair.

Hmm, it was a lot longer than it had been when she had last had it loose in public, back when she was a first year. She hadn't paid attention to the length in a long time, but it was now hitting around the top of her thighs even when pulled up. She couldn't imagine how long it would be if she straightened out her contrarious curls.

"I'll take your word for it, sir," Heri replied. "I bought these in Whimsic. Since the shop is still in business, I assume that none of these need a license."

"I believe we are all ready then?" the Unspeakable stated more than asked before Professor Snape could voice his apparent outrage. He walked around his desk and went to open the door. He clearly did not expect any sort of reply. "Come along this way. Your time here is limited."

Heri blinked at the man's impatience, but she followed all the same, not eager to hear Professor Snape's scolding for whatever it was he thought she had done wrong.

Professor Snape ground his teeth almost audibly, but held his tongue as he stalked forward.

The Unspeakable guided them down a long, windowless and featureless hallway with a tall black door at the end of it. They were led inside in silence, and the man soon motioned for them to come to a stop. Heri looked around for the briefest moment — just long enough to see that it was a circular room surrounded by a number of unmarked, identical doors — when the wall suddenly began to spin frantically, leaving her feeling terrible dizzy and disoriented.

Just before she got queasy, it stopped.

Heri was on the verge of asking what had just happened, but the Unspeakable was already on the move again, striding confidently over to one of the doors and pulling it open.

Beyond was a long, grey hallway lined with more doors — all unmarked — along each side. The three of them walked down the hall towards the end before the Unspeakable stopped at once of the doors and pulled it open. He motioned Heri and Professor Dumbledore inside before following behind them.

The room was much like the halls they'd come from — grey walls, plain slate floor, no windows. Its only feature was a large circular table in the centre on the room with four chairs placed evenly.

"Sit," the Unspeakable said shortly.

Heri thought the man rather rude, but she ignored it, going over to sit in one of the chairs, the Headmaster taking the one on her right, and Professor Snape taking the one on her left.

"The head of the Prophetic Studies Division will be by shortly — you will have to wait for him, he's a very busy man and is taking his time out of his work schedule to assist you in this. He's the only one who can remove the prophecies from their placement in the hall besides the subjects of the prophecies themselves."

"May I ask why you do not simply have us go in and retrieve the prophecy ourselves then?" Professor Dumbledore asked politely.

The man eyed the Headmaster for several seconds.

"The Hall of Prophecies," he began, his tone bland, "is a vast space filled with many sensitive objects of considerable import that we cannot risk for such a small task. We would have to pass through one of the two other halls to get there, and both of _those_ rooms also contain many important, _dangerous_, and irreplaceable objects. Miss Potter has been cleared to see any prophecies pertaining to her personally, but she has not been cleared to see any other part of the Department. And neither have _you_."

Heri decided beyond a doubt that she did _not_ like this man. There were few characteristics that she dislike more in a person than patronisation, and he was already guilty of impoliteness, one of those few. Call her mad, but she would forgive outright evil before unrepentant incivility.

"Perfectly understandable," said Professor Dumbledore with a simple accepting nod.

Heri traced a forefinger over her top lip to hide her smirk. It was hard to be at odds with Professor Dumbledore when he made himself so easy for her to like.

The Unspeakable gave a curt jerk of his head in acknowledgement before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Heri heaved a sigh a few seconds later and took a moment to examine the room more closely. She noted there was a platter-like bowl on the table, sitting on a short pedestal. It looked much like the Pensieve Professor Dumbledore had used before, what with the runes carved all around the outside. Other than that though, the room was as austere as a prison cell. If she hadn't known this was the Department of Mysteries, she would have assumed she was in one of the interrogation rooms of the DMLE.

If it wasn't for the presence of her two professors and the unknown setting keeping her on guard, Heri would have already collapsed from the mind-numbing lack of stimulation to keep her grounded in the present. As it was, she had pulled an incomplete scarf from her Expanded pocket and was crocheting furiously under the table, forcing herself to focus on the physical activity to stave off any chance of a 'sleep' attack. She hadn't brought along Ollie that day because the poor dear was utterly terrified of Professor Snape, so it would have been double the headache if it ended up that she had to be revived, not to mention embarrassing beyond words because they would have to search her clothes for her potions.

She sort of wished that she could pull out Iolanthe as well to amuse herself, but the entire point of keeping the doll hidden was so that she would be taken seriously, something that was difficult enough to achieve given her age and lack of height. Iolanthe was an effective prop for when Heri wanted to be underestimated, but that wasn't the effect she needed right now.

After what seemed like a ridiculously long time considering they had made an appointment _two weeks and a half_ in advanced and had been told that their time there was _limited _(she was tempted to flip the damned table from impatience), the door clicked and slowly swung open. Heri's eyes trained on the doorway sharply as a heavily cloaked figure with his face magically obscured like the first Unspeakable walked in with a black lacquered box the size of a briefcase floating in the air in front of him.

The box floated across the room and settled onto the end of the round table opposite of where Heri and the Headmaster were sitting. The Unspeakable followed behind, closing the door after him, and toot a seat in the one remaining chair around the table. He opened the box and turned it around so that it faced their direction.

Inside, sitting within cushions moulded to their size, was a faded scroll bound with a length of plain twine, and an opalescent sphere of spun glass that looked to be filled with swirling mist. The sphere had a tag attached to it, and Heri sharpened her eyes just a touch so she wouldn't have to lean forward and squint to read the small print as Professor Dumbledore was doing.

The tag read:

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord_

_and (?) Herakles Potter_

"I am Unspeakable Perthro-7-Alpha," the Unspeakable said, startling Heri after his prolonged silence. "You must remove the prophecy orb from the box and place it in the viewing receptacle."

"We're not here to view the prophecy," Professor Snape drawled, his expression tight with impatience. "We already know what it says. Miss Potter here will be taking it, as is her right."

"We apologise for taking up so much of your time for such a small matter," Professor Dumbledore tacked on.

The Head of the Prophetic Studies Division gave no protest or complaint, he merely inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Miss Potter will be taking both prophecies?" He asked.

There was a pause at this.

"There's another prophecy?" Heri asked, her eyes wide with incredulity. "Since when?"

"Why was no one informed?" Snape added, scowling heavily.

The Unspeakable withdrew a scroll of parchment from his sleeve and appeared to look it over.

"The Prophetic Studies Division received the second prophecy concerning Miss Potter on November 2nd of 1981," he eventually said. "It was sent in by Elijah Podgarrulus, a particularly prolific Prognosticator who has sent us several prophecies before and since. It was accounted to be about Miss Potter on May 4th of 1982. An owl was sent out to Miss Potter's guardians, but no response was received. After the fifth letter went unanswered, standard procedure dictated that no further attempts were to be made."

Professor Dumbledore looked troubled.

"The correspondence was undoubtedly received by Petunia," he told them, a light frown on his face. "I placed a spell of redirection upon Heri so she would not be found by those who thought to trace an owl, but I neglected to do so for Ministry owls because that would have meant she would also not have received her school supply list when it was to come. Ministry officials came to me personally on matters concerning her, so I never realised it would be an issue either."

"So Petunia ended up with the letters and decided to throw them out?" Professor Snape clarified.

That certainly sounded like Aunt Petunia, Heri thought. No doubt she shrieked at discovering them and then burned them in the fireplace.

"It appears that way," Dumbledore replied with a shrug.

"Should we listen to it now then?" asked Heri, looking from face to face.

"If you could tell us how?" said Dumbledore, addressing the Unspeakable.

Without a word, the Unspeakable pointed his wand at the scroll next to the prophecy orb and levitated it over to Heri.

"Why is this one not in an orb like the other one?" asked Professor Snape as Heri took the scroll and gave it a once over.

"This is a Prognosticator's log," Heri answered in the Unspeakable's stead. "Unlike Prophets or Oracles, Prognosticators aren't messengers for Higher Powers, they read the future through the flow of the world instead. And sometimes through whispers that they hear if they have clairaudience. Instead of speaking in a trance, they write down their predictions. And because a Prgnosticator's log has been divined from omens, it's sensitive to change, unlike 'true prophecies'."

Professor Snape did not look impressed.

"That batty wretch actually teaches useful information in that class of hers?" he asked, his tone scornful. Much like the majority of the Professors of Hogwarts, he had no respect for Divination. With this scorn in consideration, it was amazing he had put enough stock into it at all to come along to retrieve the prophecy orb with them.

"Professor Trelawney may be a bit overexcited on ocassion," Heri defended loyally, "But she knows her subject well."

"So we simply open it and read it?" asked Professor Dumbledore before Professor Snape could snipe back. The sneer on Professor Snape's face was very telling.

"Correct," the Unspeakable replied. "Though Miss Potter is the only one that may touch it."

"I see." Dumbledore nodded. He then smiled amicably at Heri. "Read it aloud then, my dear."

Heri unravelled the scroll and held it at a comfortable distance. She gave the words a cursory glance-over because of the length, and then began to read:

"_Born of a splitting and split once more,/twice-blessed is twice-born as the lightning strikes./As lightning strikes, the Darkness is illuminated;/the Sun rises on the split path, showing a new way._

"_When the Fire burns out, twice becomes thrice;/when the Stone is cracked, it's all split in half./Half born; half killed; half blooded; half fulfilled./The Sun is halved and the Darkness rises once more._

"_The sun enters Taurus with the moon in Gemini;/thrice, once twice, becomes quadrice./Half a split; twice-blessed; thrice unmade; quadrice reformed./The split Sun burns out the Darkness to leave behind stars._

"_Two times Two makes Four, but propagation needs more;/four must find four for the Split to reach Four._"

Heri paused after finishing, not sure where to begin. That certainly wasn't as straightforward as the one by Professor Trelawney. After a moment of thought, she latched onto the part that really confused her.

Wrinkling her nose, Heri asked, "What on earth is a 'quadrice'?"

Professor Dumbledore looked momentarily stupefied by her choice of a starting point, but then chuckled a bit and sat back in his seat.

"A purely wizarding word, my dear," he informed her. "One that means 'four times.' After breaking off from the Muggles, it was decided by enthusiastic separatists that we should have words that could be called true 'Wizard's English.' Amongst those that were adapted, 'quadrice, quice, sexice, septice, octice, noveice, and deice' was decided to be used as continuation of the original 'once, twice, thrice' sequence."******

Heri put her forefinger to her lips in contemplation.

"But that sequence comes from one, two, and three, in addition with the Old English genitive ending," she said after a moment. "Wouldn't it be more correct if it went along the lines of 'fource, fivice, sice, sevice, eightice, nince, and tence'?"

Professor Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully and nodded his head. He then said, "I can only suppose that the use of Latin roots is what made it wizardly in the eyes of the inventors. You learn about it in depth while studying for the History of Magic N.E.W.T."

"Is that so? How lovely."

Professor Snape looked at the two of them like they were both blithering idiots.

"Is this genuinely what you two want to be focusing on out of everything?"

"Well, no," Heri admitted. "But it wouldn't do me any favours if I didn't know the definitions of the words being used."

"There is never a bad time discuss etymological history, Severus," Dumbledore added. "It lends deeper understanding of what is being stated, sometimes adding another dimension one would not expect when having a conversation."

"Never mind the etymology!" Professor Snape thundered. "We'd be better served figuring out where in this text it implies it has anything to do with the girl!"

The dour man looked over to the Unspeakable and began speaking rapidly.

"I can see a minor connection in the mention of lightning," he conceded, "That could very well be a reference to her scar. But nothing else stands out as a definite indication. How did you come to the conclusion this was about Potter? Did the Seer mention it when it was sent in?"

"It was the determination of whom the prognostic was about that took the Prophetic Studies Division so long to decipher and then attempt to contact the recipient," the Unspeakable said monotonously. "The team that studied the prognostic eventually came to the supposition that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his forces are 'the Darkness,' and Miss Potter is 'the Sun.'

"Beyond the fact that her scar is reminiscent of a lightning bolt, it is also in the exact design of Sowilo, the rune of the sun. This, paired with her defeat of him leading to a major shift in the workings of our nation — a 'split path, showing a new way' — made it conclusive that it could be none other. The timing lends credence to this conclusion as well, the prognostic being made the day before You-Know-Who fell."

"And the rest of it?" Professor Snape asked.

"Inconclusive," was the response. "It's believed that this prophecy is currently in motion but is unfulfilled."

"'When the Fire burns out, twice becomes thrice'," Heri read out again. She looked to Professor Dumbledore. "The word 'fire' is capitalised in this instance, so maybe we should assume it's not an _actual_ fire?"

"'When the Fire burns . . .'" the Headmaster mumbled to himself. "'. . . the Sun is halved and the Darkness rises once more . . .'"

"Clearly this is referencing the Dark Lord being rebirthed," said Professor Snape, crossing his arms. "Though I don't understand the significance of the two middle lines of that verse."

"So the Fire . . ." Heri began thoughtfully. "The Fire means the flames of the Goblet of Fire? I mean, if it's explaining in a chronological order . . ."

"But what of 'twice becomes thrice'?" said Professor Snape.

"Well," said Professor Dumbledore as he patted his beard, "the previous verse said something of 'twice-blessed—'"

"'Twice-blessed is twice-born as the lightning strikes'," Heri read out again at the prompting.

She gave it a moment of thought.

"Mmm, I _suppose_ this might be a reference to . . ." she trailed off as she glanced at the Unspeakable.

Now that she knew how wizards reacted to the confirmation that demigods were still amongst them, she was reluctant to even hint at it to anyone at all, never mind in the presence of an Unspeakable. The Department of Mysteries was a Ministry operation dedicated to research after all.

"Well, _you know_," she then continued vaguely. "It's certainly a blessing in the most literal term of the word. So maybe it's saying I was blessed a second time that night, being metaphorically reborn — changed — from the baby I was before . . . and that I was blessed yet again so that . . . erm . . . so that I survived the Tournament, perhaps?"

"Logical," Professor Dumbledore said with an agreeable nod. "And the next line with 'the Stone' . . ." he faltered a moment before recovering. "Yes, I think we all know what I believe _that_ is."

"And then it just describes me for a line," Heri murmured, not acknowledging the previous statement. She then said, "I suppose it's nice to confirm that I was only _half _killed," in an attempt to divert Professor Snape's dark look.

She then hummed and read, "'The sun enters Taurus with the moon in Gemini' . . . I'm not sure if this is supposed to be a reference to a significant date or . . . hmm, a reassurance maybe . . . ?" she mused. "A change for greater earthly happiness during a time of positive innovation . . ."

"More nuggets of wisdom from the supremely competent Trelawney?" Professor Snape sneered.

"The centaurs actually, sir," Heri easily answered, sending the man a challenging look. "Astrology is their forte, and they're quite happy to help me with my assignments on the matter. Anyway," she said looking back to the scroll, "this happens when what was once two, but is now three, becomes four . . . ? No, it's _because _the change that it's . . ."

"Would it be correct to assume that it's being implied that the current situation will be resolved in our favour?" asked Dumbledore, a slight smile on his lips. "Divination has never been one of my strengths," he admitted. "It's a relief to know you are so well educated in contrast, my dear."

"It's my pleasure, sir," Heri replied politely, exchanging a small smile with the old man. "From what I can tell, it sounds like things will get better, and then . . . I'll be blessed again? I believe that's what it's saying. I've been blessed three times already and it'll be happening again."

"It says 'twice-blessed; thrice unmade'," said Professor Snape, "When have you ever been 'unmade', Potter?"

Heri flapped a hand dismissively.

"It's just another way of saying I've been changed, sir," she told him. "Obviously, if I've been blessed, I'm no longer what I was before, thus being 'reformed' as it says here. And when it happens again, it'll help us take down the other side!"

"'The split Sun burns out the Darkness to leave behind stars'," Professor Snape read out in an attempt to poke holes in her conclusion. "What is 'split' about you?"

Heri and Professor Dumbledore exchanged glances, pointedly not looking at the Unspeakable.

"I think," the Headmaster said carefully, "we would be correct to assume that _that_ particular descriptive is a yet another reference to Heri's . . . condition."

"And the next part?" Professor Snape demanded, relentless. "'Two times Two makes Four, but propagation needs more;/four must find four for the Split to reach Four'? That hardly makes a bit of sense!"

"Well . . ." hedged Heri. It wasn't like she could know everything by herself! "That's actually the vaguest part of this whole passage. It could mean a lot of things really. But this prophecy is obviously only half completed at most, so it's likely referencing things that we just don't have the information yet to understand, Professor."

Professor Snape _harrumph'_d grouchily but did not refute her statement.

Further discussion trickled off after this initial take on interpreting the prognostic, a timely thing as well because they were soon escorted out. More or less true to his word, the Unspeakable from before came to collect them only twenty minutes after they met the head of the Prophetic Studies Division. Returning the prophecies to their places, the division head handed the lacquered box to Heri as he left them behind without even a word of farewell.

"Your time is up," said Unspeakable Mannaz-2-Theta, his tone impatient. "I will return you now."

Being ushered back to the office they had originally arrived in, Heri mentally crossed out Unspeakable from her list of possible career options. The opportunity for fascinating research aside, the people themselves were reprehensible.

* * *

**I**n the days after retrieving the prophecies from the Department of Mysteries, Heri had the oddest feeling of being watched. Admittedly, being watched was not an uncommon occurrence considering how she was almost constantly in the presence of her friends and family or with her semi-sentient experiments, but there was an extra pair of eyes she could feel that she couldn't pinpoint. Whether accompanied or supposedly by herself, she could feel someone looking.

If she was rough-housing with Sirius, there were invisible eyes peering around the corners; if she was tinkering in her room, something was looking out at her from underneath her bed; no matter where she went, it followed her. Heri was tempted to fling a knife out at whatever it was whenever she felt its presence, but she didn't want to risk it gaining a weapon on the off-chance it could dodge her blade. That and throwing knives wasn't a trait that was encouraged in a civilised environment; she tried not to do that outside of her room any longer, and rekindling the habit would have been a liability with how potentially explosive her room now was.

No one else had noticed it, making her wonder if it was one of those things only the godly could see. Granted, no one in the house was as paranoid as her — besides Mad-Eye, but he wasn't around that often — but Heri would have thought that the feel of staring eyes and strangely moving shadows would concern others as well. Zacharias and Ernie didn't seem to be aware of it either, but she chalked that up to being because they lived pretty pampered lives and weren't intrinsically combat-oriented like she seemed to be.

If she was the type to point fingers, she would have blamed Hedwig. After the troublesome bird had returned from a hunt, the whatever-it-was started lurking. Heri knew there were things in this world outside of her comprehension, but she had figured that Hedwig was just a confusing but relatively well-meaning part of it. This was apparently not the case, since she was now oh-so-carelessly bringing home supernatural beings of unknown intentions, not caring in the least bit that this was _not okay_.

Blasted amoral familiars.

Heri had considered telling Sirius and Remus, but . . . well, they had enough worries and stress without scaring themselves silly over a matter they couldn't do anything about. They had been running themselves ragged on Order business, schmoozing up to potential allies and coordinating with other Order members every other day. The thing had gotten in the building despite the protections that could very well endure an apocalypse; if the house hadn't kept it out, nothing would.

It was on the day before she returned to school that Heri decided that enough was enough. She had concluded the presence was not an active threat when it hadn't done more than trail after her, but there was no way she was allowing it to follow her to Hogwarts. She had her limits, and letting an unknown entity with equally unknown powers within reach of the schoolchildren who were more or less under her protection was that limit.

Heri had been measuring up Ollie for a new jumper, Iolanthe darting back and forth to bring her tools from her sewing kit, when the shadow under her work desk thickened. Immediately irritated, a tendril lanced out, sharpened to a wicked point.

It struck with a _crshhnk! _but Heri couldn't tell if she'd landed a proper hit or if she had just struck wall; the tendrils registered touch differently than the rest of her body. The only thing she knew for certain was that she was lodged in for the length of her hand. Another spear-like tendril went blurring when Heri discerned a hint of movement.

In the back of her mind, Heri was relieved that Sirius and Remus were currently out on 'business'. It would have been nice to have back up if things ended up going sour, but she was resolute to not involve them with the things that sought her out for being what she was. Since she learned how much poor little Alabaster Torrington's family had suffered from such things, she wanted to keep her own family as far away from the dangers as possible.

"I know you're still there," Heri bit out. She felt her pupils and irises expanding. "Come out where I can see you."

The shadow shifted in place like clay being moulded, but it made no response.

"I've had quite enough of this game of chase!" Heri snapped, sprouting another tendril and sharpening it threateningly. "Show yourself and tell me what you want!"

As she said this, Heri picked up Ollie and settled the Bogle on her hip. Meanwhile, Iolanthe _eep_'d and skittered up into the Expanded pocket Heri had sewn on all of her skirts. With her miniature doppelgänger safely hidden, she could focus on Ollie's safety. Ollie had not known about the strange stalker before this moment, and she was now trembling up a storm in confusion and fright, her rabbit-like nose twitching furiously.

The shadowy form under the desk twitched and churned as if it was indecisive, but it soon began creeping forward when Heri's third tendril sprouted needle-like protrusions similar to the spines on a manticore's tail. As it inched out, Heri kept her tendrils tensed for action.

It bubbled outward when it reached the edge of the natural shadows, surging up like a cloud of noxious smoke. As it poured out, it thickened from mist to a heavy-looking smog, billows spinning in tight rotation to form thick appendages. After a moment, it condensed into a silhouetted figure of a man.

It then blinked open hellish eyes. The entire surface of its eyes were overwhelmed by the blackness of pupil, and what should have been pink waterline was a sheen of pus green. As it took in Heri's wary face, details bled up from its feet, turning it from a black outline into a fully three-dimensional being.

Heri said nothing as it completed its strange metamorphosis into anthropomorphic form.

"Sc-sca-scary . . ." Ollie stuttered haltingly, tiny fingers clutching at Heri's shirt.

Heri bounced the small creature gently, making soft sounds of comfort even as she kept her eyes trained on the threat, her tendrils coiled and ready. She didn't liked this at all; not only was it out of the ordinary, it _felt _out of the ordinary as well. Her senses screamed at her that this being was not to be taken lightly.

The whatever-it-was cocked its head, expression wondering.

It was taller than any humanoid being she had ever seen besides Hagrid, well over six feet, but lanky like a teenage boy. It wore tidy black dreadlocks coiled on the top of its head. The facial features were vaguely Asiatic, but its skin was a coppery brown with a strange undertone Heri reckoned was green, if the greenish waterline was any indication. If it wasn't for the inhuman colour undertone and eyes, it would have looked to be a rather exotic but otherwise ordinary wizard.

"Sc-scary man," Ollie continued, confusing leaking into her tone. "Scary man has eyes like Miss Heri!"

Heri stiffened, even her tendrils freezing in their undulating. Eyes like . . . ? Those eerie puddles of tar were what Heri's eyes looked like when they were at optimal vision range? She searched the thing's face for any sign of reaction at Ollie's declaration, but it looked completely unsurprised. But why would they be similar in this way? Heri had gotten her eyes from her lately absent guardian spirit, it shouldn't be a trait that was shared with other sorts of beings!

"Who are you?" Heri demanded, her tone sharp and impatient as her thoughts abounded. They shouldn't be alike in that way! Why would they be alike? Heri's eyes were a godly gift—!

And then a thought struck her.

"Are you . . . ?" she continued almost breathlessly before the thing could answer. "Are you . . . my father?"

Was this the third parent she had so long wanted to know? Could he be? If it was so, she was a little disappointed at how . . . not underwhelming, but . . . ungodly he was. She had heard grand tales of how mortal eyes were burned out if they looked on a god, but this creature . . .

The thing's eyes widened at her question. It then dropped to one knee and bowed its head.

"Dear lady mine," it — _he _rasped in a creaky voice that would've better suited an elderly gentleman on his last leg. "This humble servant would beg your pardon. 'Twas mine intention not to lead you to credit this mere messenger to be your lofty lord father. In sooth, I was stricken dumb at sudden being called forth to attend to you after such a length wherein I went unacknowledged. I implore you forgive this miserable sinner this grievous fault."

He spoke with a peculiar accent Heri couldn't identify, the odd lilting of it making his strangely antiquated speech pattern sound even more out of place.

So, he did have something to do with her father! Oh, and wasn't it exciting to know for certain that it was a father instead of just an indeterminable parent? Still, this meant this person was definitely on the higher scale of danger, nothing within godly influence was harmless.

Heri's eyes narrowed into a sceptical squint. She drew back her tendrils so they weren't right in the strange man's face any longer, but instead were drifting around her sides like a physical aura. He had not yet lifted his head again, but he did twitch almost imperceptibly when a tendril nearly grazed him.

"Who are you?" she asked again, harshness gone but still firm. "Why are you here? And what do you know about my father?"

He lifted his head and assumed a straightened posture, but he remained on his knee and didn't look her in the eyes.

"This servant is an ambassador of the realm of your exalted lord father," He said. "I am but a messenger bearing his lordship's missive for my lady to accept at her leisure. I was charged to hie hither and relay his intentions to you."

In times of uncertainty, it was best to behave confidently lest the opposition take advantage of your weakness. Heri fisted her free hand on her hip and gave him a derisive once-over. She channelled all her self-confidence and pretended this was Dudley before her.

So, if this man's words were to be taken at face value, her father was some god that had control over a 'realm'. If that was true, why hadn't he sent anyone to her before? And who the hell did he think he was to have a child and then just leave that child an orphan at the mercies of people that despised her?

"I didn't know delivering a message had anything to do with following a person around like a hungry bogeyman on the prowl," she said, unimpressed by this 'messenger' and her supposedly lordly father.

He bowed his head again.

"I pray you grant me mercy, Mistress," he said. "Being unacknowledged as I was, I ill favoured encroaching on your attentions while you were otherwise diverted."

Heri eyed him doubtfully and asked, "Are you saying you've been hanging around like a lingering ghost because I didn't call you out the first time I noticed you?"

"'To otherwise approach you without your expressed permission 'twould be unseemly of me, my lady."

Right. Of course it was. Never mind that Heri knew nothing of his archaic manners and so hadn't realised he was waiting for such a signal.

Carefully putting Ollie back down, Heri asked, "How did you even know where to find me? Not even my guardian spirit has been able to reach me in this house."

This was something that had both shocked and awed Heri when she had realised it. The spirit was usually stood under some tree outside a window when she had looked for it before. When she hadn't seen it back when she had returned from Massachusetts, she had sprinted out to the nearest park and shaken the spirit down for answers when it appeared. When it had told her that the wards on Number Twelve deflected even divine tracking, Heri concluded the house to be the safest place in the world for her.

It was highly unsettling that something had managed to slip in.

He considered his words for a moment.

"I' faith, I was ill equipped to progress to my lady's abode through mine own means," he said at length. "Yet e're could I surrender to my bitter resolve to seek out you at your place of learning, I was set upon by a beast most fearsome in the make of a monstrous fowl. Anon I learned this beast to be my lady's own creature, and it spake with me. Unto me it disclosed that much liken to a letter am I, being that the message I carry lies upon my tongue rather than in written word. It then conveyed that it was obliged to bear me to my lady as it wouldth any other correspondence."

_Dammit, Hedwig_.

Heri had _known_ it was all the silly bird's fault! Next she'd been inviting Voldemort over for croquet and Christmas dinner!

"So you were delivered to my doorstep like a stray sheet of parchment," Heri summarised sardonically, crossing her arms. She sighed gustily through her nose and glanced around at the mess of fabric she had strewn across her room; this really wasn't the place to be having such a conversation.

"Ollie, dear," said Heri, placing a hand on the small creature's head who had been fiddling with the hem of Heri's shirt since she had been placed on the ground. "Would you be a gem and go tell Oona that I'd like tea for three to be sent to the third floor sitting room?"

Ollie glanced nervously at the third person in the room before giving Heri a wobbly smile and saying, "Yes, Miss Heri!"

Ollie then skirted around the still kneeing man and dashed out of the room.

"We're going to the sitting room so you can explain yourself properly," Heri informed the man, her tone patently pleasant.

She was no longer in any mood for more delicately put words. Her sanctuary had been invaded, her father had sent a stalker, and the guy was still speaking in pretty little phrases that _didn't actually tell her anything_. Heri pasted Smile No. 9 onto her face, a jolly curving of eyes and a saccharine bearing of teeth reserved for people who were standing on her last nerve but weren't allowed to know it.

"Please, get up," she chirped. "This conversation is long overdue, and I'd like to be sitting comfortably while I _wring you out bone-dry for every little bit of information you're good for_."

It was a spooked otherworldly being who trailed after Heri to 'her' sitting room, whom was then pushed into a chair across from her when he protested on grounds of 'impropriety'. Heri stared him into submission when he shifted uncomfortably, and they sat in silence until the tea arrived.

"How do you take your tea, sir?" Heri then asked perfunctorily, calmly pouring the liquid through the strainer and into the cup meant for her guest. She had pulled in her tendrils, but her eyes were still at optimum range.

He observed her cautiously as he answered, "An it please my lady, but a trickle of cream be well enow."

Heri nodded amicably and handed him his cup after adding the aforementioned cream.

"_Now_," said Heri as she began fixing a cup for Ollie who was snuggled into her side again. "I want your name and your purpose. In full detail _if you please_."

With a deep nod of his head, he said, "An it please you, madam, I am Namtar, Grand Vizier of The Land of No Return. I come bearing gifts and salutations from the Emperor of the Netherworlds, Nergal Sharrapu, the Furious One, Devourer of the flesh of Man, Judge of Souls, for his belovèd firstborn child, First Imperial Princess of the Netherworlds, Lady Herakles of the House of Potter."

There was a beat — a moment just long enough that Heri wondered if her heart had stopped.

_What_?

Heri was not too prideful to deny that she nearly dropped the cup in her hand. As it was, tea sloshed over the edge of the cup, and the teapot in her other hand returned to the table with a very telling _clink-thwk_, too loud to be discreet in the silence following the previous statement.

Wait, no! Just . . . but . . .

No, seriously — _what_?

"Nergal?" she breathed, voice barely above a hush. She flicked out her wand and dried off her dampened gloves. A touch of hysteria entered her tone as she said again, "_Nergal_? Nergal, the destructive aspect of the sun? Nergal, the evil Mesopotamian god of war, pestilence, and famine? _The warmongering god known to be more bloodthirsty than even Lord Ares_? _THAT _NERGAL?!"

Her voice grew progressively louder until she was positively shrieking at the end.

Nergal! That was what he'd said, right? She hadn't gone momentarily insane and started hearing things?

She was spasming internally at the thought.

Of all gods, how was it possible that her father was _him_?

Heri had read about Nergal when she was in the Restricted Section of the school library in search of material for her history project last year. He was written about in a book she had found dropped in a cranny between a chair and a bookshelf, a book on Katotheurgy, the channelling of dark gods. Always wanting to know more about gods, she had actually given herself another day with her Time-Turner so that she could read it all in one sitting.

Nergal was a second-generation god of the Sumerian-Babylonian pantheon, the chief centre of his cult being in Kutha, currently an archaeological site in modern-day Iraq. In later records, he was a described as a 'destroying flame' and earned the epithet _sharrapu, '_burner'. Assyrian documents of the 1st millennium BC described him as a benefactor of men, who hears prayers and restores the dead to life, but those were muggle records; hymns older that — known only to wizards — depicted him as a god of pestilence, hunger, and devastation.

Heri could remember well the chill that crept up her spine when she read the invocation meant to summon him from his realm. She couldn't remember the entire thing, but there were a few lines that stuck out: _Nergal, god of the Sacrifice of Blood, remember!/Devourer of the flesh of Man, remember!/Spirit of the Entrance Unto Death, open Thy Gate to me!_

A god that was more feared than worshipped by even his own cult was her father.

It didn't make sense! It didn't fit _at all_! The others at school were dead convinced that she was far too . . . well, alright, _she_ knew she was trigger-happy, but that was easily attributed to outside circumstance instead of an inborn trait! The aura around her was described as 'too comfortable' for her to be the daughter of anyone but a _domestic_ deity! NERGAL WAS A GOD OF DEATH AND KILLING! What's more, Nergal didn't even have any history of fathering _any_ children, never mind demigods!

Namtar winced at Heri's words and expression.

"I pray you, my lady," he said, looking mightily uncomfortable, "Judge not your lord father so harshly. His lordship be a stringent master, yet fair is he in all his dealings. A better king I cannot name."

"So you're saying he's _not _evil?" Heri demanded, fingers digging into the material of her skirt at her thighs. Her knuckles were white from how tightly her fingers were clenched.

"I know not wherefore ye are inclined to such a thought," he replied, honest confusion on his face.

Heri gave him a disbelieving look.

Even before finding that book, she had heard of Nergal. Eddie Carmichael had been eager to fill her ears with his knowledge of all things divine, something none of the other children at school had been too excited to hear about. Heri had once again proved herself a patient listener and had been rewarded with answers to questions she hadn't even known to ask.

Nergal, originally named Meslamtæa, was a son of Enlil and Ninlil, the sky god king of the Anunnaki and the goddess of the South wind respectively. The Anunnaki were first worshipped during the late Hyborian Age, around 10,000 BC, but gained prominence after the Great Cataclysm, when the continents shifted and Atlantis sunk into the sea. They had a great impact on the rise of the Sumerian Empire, one of the first great human civilizations to rise from the ashes of the Hyborian Age, during which they were at their height of worship. The Anunnaki are therefore counted among the oldest gods known on earth with the possible exception of the Ogdoad, the ancestors of the gods of Egypt.

Nergal represented a very particular aspect of death, one that was often interpreted as _inflicted _death, because Nergal was also the god of plague and pestilence, as well as being closely associated with warfare. Death brought on by Nergal also had a strongly supernatural dimension, even more so than gods of other pantheons, because of the various diseases of Mesopotamia. He controlled a variety of demons and hellish forces, most notoriously the ilū sebettu, his agents of death and destruction.

As Meslamtæa, he was the god of war of the Sumerian Empire during the time they conquered and subjugated their enemies, but when he tried to conquer the underworld of Irkalla ruled by Ereškigal, he became known as a darker, more malevolent deity known as Nergal. Rather than cede control of Irkalla to Nergal, Ereškigal took him as her consort, merging their two realms of the dead, Allatum and Irkalla, together. Even then, Nergal rarely stayed bound to the netherworlds, spawning war and blood-thirst on earth instead, leading mortals and gods against their enemies.

Even when his father and uncle, Enlil and Hadad, went to war against each other to become king of the Anunnaki, Nergal gave no partiality between, instead he supported both brothers equally, preferring the bloodshed of battle over everything else. Nergal was called Assur as the patron god of the later Assyrian Empire, _usurping_ the worship of Anshar, an older deity. He was called Erra by the Akkadians and once tried to eradicate the entirety of mankind on the coaxing the ilū sebettu, actually killing people indiscriminately in Babylon before he later changed his mind on a whim.

Eventually, most of the Mesopotamian gods retreated to the other dimensional realm of Celestial Dilmun that Anu created when he was exile from earth centuries before, but Nergal instead remained within the netherworlds. Following the fall of the Assyrian Empire, most of Mesopotamia either fell under control of the Greeks — and later the Romans — and adopted their gods, or were converted into Judaism, Islam, and eventually Christianity.

Despite being bound to the netherworlds, Nergal often joined the other Anunnaki in war, especially against the Olympian gods and their worshippers who were invading the lands that was once Ancient Sumeria, and against the Yazatas, the gods worshipped by the Persians of Ancient Iran. Lord Ares, the _Olympian_ god of war, once tried to turn Nergal into an ally against Hecules, the brother Ares hated, but he was overwhelmed by Nergal as well, and begrudgingly had to work with Hercules to send Nergal back to the netherworlds.

At this time, Nergal's modern activities were unknown, but he was remembered to be a very impatient and violent deity given to psychopathic rages.

Not exactly someone you'd want as a father.

It was all this that Heri explained to Namtar, who looked on, gobsmacked. Apparently, he hadn't known that their history was still remembered. In fact, he hadn't known that many parts of her description had been known by mortals at all.

"And if all that wasn't enough," Heri sighed, taking a deep sip of tea, "I was convinced for the longest time that I was Olympian! They're the most common type of demigods, you know, it was a logical conclusion. An Anunnaki demigod hasn't been known of since the Epic of Gilgamesh, and that was written thousands of years ago!"

"This revelation doth trouble you?" Namtar asked, looking discouraged. "'Tis truth such a birth be rarer than horse feathers, yet should this not inspire merriment rather than despair?"

"I have nothing against him personally, but that doesn't mean I can't be shocked that a god with such a bad reputation is supposed to be my father," Heri retorted, handing Ollie a biscuit she had been reaching for. "He's literally the exact opposite of what I was hoping for! And I'm allowed to be bothered when something I believed to be true for so long turns out to be false!"

"I beg your pardon, my lady, what hath proven itself to be false?"

Heri frowned and said, "Weren't you listening just now? I said I thought I was Olympian!"

Namtar looked as confused as ever.

"Is't not so?" he asked, voice hesitant. "Yea, I believe this to be truth."

Now it was Heri's turn to be confused, not that she hadn't already been confused in some form or another since the start of this conversation.

"Nergal never integrated with the Olympian gods!" Heri protested. She definitely would have heard of _that _from Carmichael even if she hadn't during primary school Latin. "He's always been Anunnaki!"

"Aye, my lady speaketh the truth," he replied, inclining his head. "Yet not Lord Nergal do I describe but your lady mother."

". . ."

_What_?

When Heri's mouth actually fell open, Namtar expounded.

"Though the reason be not known to me, Lord Nergal was invoked within your ladyship's infancy by your mortal father," he said. "'Tis believed that my lord was meant to defeat your mortal father's foe in his stead. Alas, Lord Nergal was pulled forth too late to do more than observe the aftermath."

Heri was now having trouble breathing. Would these plot-twists stop coming out of nowhere!?

"Amongst the ashes and dead he did find you," Namtar continued, "trapped within your mortal body as it did fail from your divinity being released prematurely. Your ladyship was killing yourself; an immortal soul with no jurisdiction dissolveth into Nothingness outside of a physical vessel. Ye would have not only been dead as any other mortal, ye would have been erased from existence.

"Lord Nergal did witness your plight and did admire how ye yet lingered when any other would have succumbed the moment their vessel did falter. With the power of the sacrifice your mortal father made, Lord Nergal did pluck you from your vessel and did remake it with his own flesh and powers."

"Wait!" Heri exclaimed when Namtar looked as if he was about to continue without granting his previous words the appropriate gravity. "Why would he do that? What made him even _consider_ doing such a thing?"

"Lord Nergal is not without compassion," Namtar said almost rebukingly. "And he certainly honours his debts. Your mortal father did give sacrifice without receiving gain; providing assurance that the one he did sacrifice for did continue to live to a length worthy of payment of a life cut short was fair and equal exchange. And did ye not provoke his respect with your own strength of will? Nay, 'tis little wonder my lord did exalt you as his own child."

"So you say!" Heri scoffed, still wide-eyed and disbelieving. "Where does my mother come into this?"

"Upon your rebirth, your lady mother was beside herself with both shock and relief. An you yet not know it to be so, the Olympians have been decreed to have no close relation to their mortal offspring. It is forbidden of them to raise their halfborns. Your lady mother did sense a disturbance in your presence and did come to look into your well-being despite the law against her participation. She was most offended that another had made themselves to be a parent as she could not be, yet upon discovering ye were rescued from the edge of expiry she did become most grateful."

"Who is she?" Heri inquired, leaning forward in her seat. "How is any of that even possible? How can a demigod have _two _divine parents?"

"I regret to say I may not reveal her to you," Namtar replied, sounding genuinely remorseful. "Pantheons must respect the laws of others when it comes to mortals, and it is so that my lady mayn't know her lady mother afore she reveals herself. In sooth, it wouldth be a hazardous undertaking, for she wouldth not goeth unpunished for intervening so directly."

"Fine," Heri conceded. She had already known that Olympian demigods had to wait for their parents to show themselves, she was just getting irritated of waiting. "But how is it possible for a demigod to have two divine parents? Wouldn't two gods make another god?"

Why had no one told her about this possibility?

"Lord Nergal did not divest you of your mortality when he made you anew," Namtar explained. "Ye are now simply what is known as a Twice-blessed."

Heri really did drop her teacup this time. Thankfully, Ollie managed to catch it before it fell to the ground.

"Repeat that?"

Namtar gave her a bewildered look and said, "Ye are what is known as a Twice-blessed."

_Born of a splitting and split once more,/twice-blessed is twice-born as the lightning strikes._

Thinking of those first two lines with this new definition in mind made it make a lot more sense. Heri just sat back in her seat and fell into momentary contemplation.

So, being 'blessed' referred to the number of divine parents she had, not how many times she had lucked out. If that was true, that meant—

"Is it possible to be _thrice_-blessed?" Heri asked.

Namtar paused and thought on this for a moment.

"In sooth, I think it ne'er afore to have been done," he said at last. "I do not say it to be impossible, yet the only way it couldth be so wouldth be an another deity made you their Champion. Being made a Champion is whereby most other halfborns become twice-blessed, though I have yet to hear word of one already twice-blessed being made Champion."

Here was a possibility she hadn't known. If the second prophecy meant what she now thought it meant, she'd be looking at a major boost in capabilities very soon. She should probably tell Professors Dumbledore and Snape about it later.

I see," she murmured, picking up a biscuit. "So, my father is Nergal, Mesopotamian god of the netherworlds, amongst other things, and my mother is an Olympian goddess who can't afford to reveal herself to me just yet. I suppose that would explain the guardian spirit, my general oddity, and the tendrils. I've really wondered about the tendrils, you know; the Olympians have nothing like them. "

Heri paused in thought. Then she frowned.

"Actually, come to think of it, Nergal isn't accounted to have tendrils either!"

Namtar twitched at the mention of her tendrils. Heri had drawn them in, but it seemed he was sensitive to even the thought of them.

"Dearest lady mine," he began, expression becoming soft and beseeching. Heri assumed he was going to ask her not to remind him of them. "Would you be so generous as to . . . That is to say . . . might I see your tenacula once more?"

Heri blinked.

"What?"

It seemed she'd be repeating that word quite often. It was understandable of course, what with so many things being said that she would have never expected. No one but the centaurs had ever asked her to see her tendrils again before. Granted, the only other people that had seen them before were either dead or had been threatened with them, but still.

She then wrinkled her nose and said, "What did you call them?"

"Tenacula, my lady," Namtar answered, looking abashed. "None but Lord Nergal hath tenacula of such fury that they do form themselves into such deathly fashion!"

His embarrassment faded as he grew impassioned.

Eyes bright and breathing increased, he said, "And lovelier set I have never yet seen! Not even the most winsome of the netherworld maidens I have been acquainted with can compare! My lady's fair limbs are like the blooming bramble: with impunity do they strike, thorns sharp to taste blood, yet graceful are they in the motion of their blows! Their comeliness invites the touch, though he who reaches out doth know he reacheth for death. In sooth, death would be a meagre trade to know the touch of such beauteous barbs!"

Eyes wide with alarm, cheeks as red as if she'd been slapped, she blurted, "Are you some kind of _pervert_?"

Trust her to have a father that sends a weirdo with a tentacle fetish to talk to her! Were the appendages somehow sexual to them? If so, why was he acquainted with her father's? From the look on his face, one would have thought she'd been waving around a pair of knickers!

Namtar came out of his raptures with a chagrined smile, but his face was flushed and was adorned with a dopey expression she had seen on Ernie and Zacharias whenever they were talking about 'guy stuff' when they thought the girls and she couldn't hear them. It was strange to see this look on a grown man that looked like he should be a villain in a fantasy film, but Heri had seen it often enough to know that was look worn when thinking about naughty things.

"I'm sixteen, you paedophile," she hissed, face hot with blushing, not knowing how to feel. She tucked Ollie more firmly into her side. "And there's a child here!"

"I beg pardon for my forwardness, my lady," Namtar said coyly, poking his forefingers together. "Your beauty did overcome my senses. But comprehension doth escape me on the reasoning of you denouncing me as a peruser of children. My lady has been of marriageable age since the turn of her thirteenth year, and has been a woman since she did triumph over the dragon that did challenge her."

Heri blinked rapidly, trying to catch up with his train of thought.

"Excuse me?" she exclaimed. "The age of consent is fifteen amongst British wizards, and our age of majority is seventeen! I'm still considered a child!"

"Is't so?" said Namtar, alien eyes peering up from under his lashes. "A thousand apologies for my trespass then, my lady. I have not involved myself in the workings of mortal conventions since the rise of the Olympians, and amongst the people of Sumer adulthood did come when one proved themselves in battle under the judgement of witnesses."

"I suppose I can understand your ignorance," Heri allowed grudgingly, "but it is absolutely _not right_ to make such suggestions! Certainly not in a public setting, certainly not when you've just met someone, and _certainly_ not when there are impressionable children around to hear them!

"Ollie," she addressed the little Bogle who had been looking on curiously when she noted Heri's outrage, "go finish your tea with Oona and then head off to bed. We'll finish your jumper on the train tomorrow."

They sat in silence as Ollie trotted off as she was told.

"You say you are but a child yourself," Namtar eventually said, "yet you coddle that creature with all the tender doting of a seasoned matron."

"I've always done well with little children," Heri admitted, resolving to ignore his previous words. "Even when they were only a few months younger than me and I had just grown out of toddling myself."

"Your lady mother's influence I should think," he replied pensively. He hummed. "Or rather _not_; she hath not influence over any facet of child-rearing as I know it to be. Perhaps this is a trait unique unto yourself." The pervy smile returned. "A good wife you would make. An _affectionate_ one for certain. Oh, were such tender affection gifted upon _me_ . . ."

"Stop that!" she cried, hopelessly flustered. She felt inclined to chuck her cup at him. "Does my father know you're like this?"

Namtar paled dramatically, an odd accomplishment considering his dark skin.

"I pray you, my lady," he croaked, "do not make this known to your lord father. He is mostly unconcerned by my free ways, yet I know not how he wouldst act an he knew I did relapse within your presence. Just is he, yet I would like it not to once again know the hot side of his temper."

"Is he really that bad?" she asked, impressed despite herself. She was starting to see the benefits of having a frightening father.

Namtar shuddered and said, "My lord is not a wicked god, but his rages be renowned for good reason."

"I suppose you should keep that in mind while explaining where the . . ._ tenacula_ are from then. As I said, Nergal isn't known to have any, nor do any other Mesopotamian gods. Not by any human accounts anyway."

Namtar sighed wistfully but answered dutifully, "It is of utmost import that my lady doth understand that the Anunnaki take physical form by pressing our presence upon a substance. In days of old, we did press upon Man and animal, those of willing spirit to host our presence and eventually surrender their essence and vessel to us. The vessels would then be consumed and made part of our being. Lesser netherworld beings would live for the chase of vessels, hoping to consume more and more to grow powerful."

Huh. That reminded Heri of what had happened when she had accidentally eaten Professor Binns. She _had _gotten better in history after that . . . She supposed it was because Professor Binns didn't have a physical body that she hadn't had to 'possess' him to consume him. This knowledge now made her morbidly curious as to what else she could gain if she ate more of the ghosts at school.

"During his wanderings of the world in search of worthy wars," Namtar continued on, "Lord Nergal did come to possess a monstrous sea beast from out of the depths of the ocean, what I have heard called 'Kraken' in this language. This form did please my lord, and he did make it part of his main embodiment in response. I do wonder how my lady hath never heard word of this occurrence as Lord Nergal has been sighted by mortals on several occasions when he did arise from the depths with the Kraken as his head and his body a mix of Man and dragon."

Was he saying that Nergal was Cthuhlu? Or rather that Cthulhu had actually been Nergal dressing up as an eldritch abomination? Was this a thing that was actually happening right now?

It seemed that Snape had been partially correct before in his commentary of Heri's vestigial limbs. Heri stared blankly into her cup and resolved to think happy thoughts instead.

The conversation eventually drifted into safer territory, about the Anunnaki and the interaction with other pantheons. It seemed that most of the older pantheons had done something similar to the Anunnaki as time passed and their religions became less known, moving into a separate realm of existence. Namtar spoke of it grimly, the most serious Heri had see him since they had started talking.

"The time of the Anunnaki hath been long pass. As the other religions so eagerly did overscribe our creation tales with their own fables, stealing our triumphs and degrading our accomplishments, the modern Man did forget our existence until only recently. Within the time between, the lesser gods have faded, both from memory and existence."

"Faded?" Heri echoed tentatively, sensitive to the man's sombre expression.

"With the rise of younger gods and the formation of new civilisations, those amongst us that did not retreat to Dilmun have becometh less, their consciousness returning to the Nothingness from whence they did come," he explained. "Their reach was too short; their influence reduced to insignificance. Lord Nergal is unique, his fingers do dip within the wells of numerous dominions, all which he remaineth the Major God of, yet this was not so for numerous deities. Were it not for my own jurisdiction being one no Man may ever denyth, even I would have become Nothingness long ago."

"Why?" Heri asked, disconcerted and disturbed at the thought. "I thought gods were immortal; how could they just die like that?"

Namtar sighed.

"Those of us that were not once Man were brought into existence from thought and belief. As thoughts did stray and belief did shift, their powers did decrease and eventually did disappear. Without their animating force, they did become unmade once more.

"We are not composed altogether of flesh and blood. We have shape, but that shape was not made of matter. This is true of all gods, but especially the eldest of us. When the stars were right, the Anunnaki did plunge from world to world through the sky. Often did we witness Beginnings and Endings of far-off universes. From world to world we did journey, to eventually settle in this dimension. We did lead the people; we did teach them our gifts. Alas, we did plant too deeply and did allow ourselves to forget what it was like Before. And now the Lesser of us have perished; the punishment of forgetting.

"Yet although we no longer live, we shall never truly die. Gods fade into Nothingness and become reborn anew. Already it hath occurred, and they have joined with the younger gods to form the newer pantheons. Some yet remember though most have no memory of it. And why should they? Their purpose was lost and they were pulled back into the Void until they were reimagined for new purpose, some even with new jurisdictions.

"All the while, the eldest of us yet remain, slumbering within our realms and sanctuaries. Worshippers do rename us and paint us with new faces, but these modern-day priests remember yet what the Anunnaki have always been: the Great Old Ones who lived ages before there were any men, and who came to the young world out of the sky.

"The Olympians know not how fortunate they be," he said, tone tingeing with bitterness. "I amend; they know but give it little thought. From Heaven and Earth, and Magic and Flesh were they formed, and from this gallimaufry did come a resilience to diminishing, a trait any amongst my kinsmen would treasure above the riches of a king's ransom. Though their powers may decline, naught but the End of All Things will cause their true end.

"But I envy them not," he declared hotly. "When the time cometh, it shall no longer be this god nor another subverting territory and raining down their fury, it will be _all_ things succumbing to what they did long deny: Death, the domain of we _minor_ gods, but true Destroyer of Worlds."

Heri blinked in surprise and said, "You're a death god too?"

"Aye, my lady, that I am, though the word _god _may be more than I can claim. I am not so much a god as I am a daemon, a personification. I am death made flesh."

She was having tea with Death, Heri thought. Death that called her 'my lady' and 'mistress', and had perved on her, and claimed her father as his king. She held back how incredulous she was feeling in favour of listening to what else he had to say.

"I am the face Sumeria did dread into being when they came to know of the end of their lives and regarded it with terror," said Namtar, looking nostalgic. "And I have endured these millennia for I am the original, the first spawned Death. I was the first that raised my ready sickle and reaped their pleading souls, and the fearful knowledge in their hearts of me hath faded not, even to this day. I was there in the Beginning, and I will be the last in the End."

Heri couldn't think of a more depressing existence.

" . . . that sounds rather lonely," she said after a moment, her tone gentle.

"It is this divide into pantheons that creates true loneliness," Namtar returned. "In the End of All Things, all representations will dissolve into one, and no longer shall there be multiple deities for a single jurisdiction. No longer shall there be Zeus and Thor, merely lightning and storms, and no longer shall there be Namtar, Thanatos, or even Lord Nergal, merely faceless death in its purest form. And if we are all one, we shall no longer be alone, shall we?"

* * *

**AN:** Description of the Department of Mysteries comes from **Professor Monroe** by Athey. DO NOT READ IF YOU DISLIKE SLASH! Athey is a queen of high-quality novel-length slash, and this story is a prime example. LV/HP and incomplete, but an intelligent and thought-provoking read.

*****No one has actually asked about it, but I wanted to explain 'muggle' versus 'Muggle.' The lower-case form is what I use when using the word as an adjective, like 'the muggle train.' The upper-case form is when it's used as a noun, as in 'the Muggles at the train station.' I thought this might be a bit confusing for some readers because I don't do this with 'wizards,' because the canon way of using the word as an adjective is 'wizarding.'

******Eyyy, more made up wizarding history! I love little details like this, they make whatever stories I read that include them feel so much _bigger_.

***Did you like the pseudo ancient history I added in there at the end? Honestly, information about the Sumerian gods are super confusing, no two places I looked for information could agree on more than one fact. I eventually had to just throw my hands up and just pick and choose what I wanted my Nergal to be like. I borrowed the magical historical events from the Marvel universe, so if you're interested in finer details of that, just google your term with 'Marvel'.

By the by, I didn't mean for Namtar to end up that way, he was supposed to be a brotherly white-knight type. Instead, you've got a shameless pervert like Miroku from InuYasha; thankfully, he won't be the handsy type.

**P.S. **Can anyone guess where I got the idea of a tentacled Nergal?


	10. The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt 3

**AN: **Sorry for the wait! I've been teaching English regularly at a few hotels hotel recently so I've had to dedicate my time when not working to creating and organizing material for my students. Not to mention that I had to deal with the flighty finance department of one of the places as well who kept trying to change my hours and cut my pay when they could.

/sigh/

I have a chiropractor/masseuse who needs to be ready in a few months to communicate with her client in New York City, so I'll have to drill very specific vocabulary into her beyond regular linguistics, and I'm starting in on a three-year-old kid who will need every Saturday and Sunday indefinitely. I'm not complaining about the increase in cash of course, but the introvert in me is screaming at all the extra human interaction. I just want to read and write without pressure!

I dunno, guys, should I start publishing ebooks or something? I do write original fiction, but I've never imagined that people would actually want to buy them considering I mostly do short stories and poetry geared toward children.

* * *

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** If you're like me and tend to skip over POVs of people you don't care about, I highly recommend you don't do so with this story, because I will never write away from my MC's POV if it doesn't add to the story in some way. It will always be to either flesh out a situation or significant character, expand the feel of the world, or set up for future events. If you skip over parts, you _will _miss important information.

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**Chapter Ten: The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not pt. 3**

* * *

**W**ayne Hopkins was no one special. This was actually quite an accomplishment when one considered the fact that he was amongst the one-in-a-thousand schoolchildren within a hidden 2% of the human population of Britain who attended Hogwarts, an accelerated secondary school that educated the future leaders of their concealed nation. But even with the fluke of his inborn magical capacity it was hard to be special when the thing that should have made him unique was shared and over-shone by the numerous people he went to school with, never mind his own friends.

Wayne had been soaring on Cloud 9 when his Hogwarts letter came, falling into a babbling, screaming mess of wonder and excitement along with his just as deliriously thrilled mother. Both had been anticipating acceptance from St. Cyprien's, a local school not far from their home; Hogwarts was so far outside of their scope of imagination that his mum actually sent a message back asking if there had been a mistake in their mailing list.

There hadn't been.

"_Oh_ . . . ," she had breathed when the confirmation came. Her eyes then gained a zealous gleam and her cheeks flushed with thrill. "Oh, _Wayne_, my sweet little baby! You're going to —! Oh, my — Oh, my _goodness_! _This is really happening_!"

Wayne's mother, Jeanine Hopkins, was an intelligent but simple witch. She had been introduced to magic when the deputy headmistress of the school she ended up attending came knocking. The school she attended was one of many that were littered across the United Kingdom for the education of the common magical folk, what Wayne had often heard referred to as 'hedge-magi' by the other children in Hufflepuff — or 'peasants' if one were to listen to Malfoy's ilk. She had gone on to get her W.O.M.B.A.T.s and her O.W.L.s, but she didn't have the means or capability to get N.E.W.T.s, never mind a Mastery of any kind. The fields of magic that did not require advanced wanded magic to ascend to higher levels — Divination; Herbology; Runes; et cetera — were simply areas she had no knack in.

She eventually ended up married to another muggleborn she had gone to school with, one who had the same talents as herself. When she became pregnant with Wayne, they had fully expected for him to follow a similar path as themselves, as it was very well known that children tended to have similar magical capabilities as their parents. It was because of that that she had been render insensible when Hogwarts came calling.

Little nobody Wayne Hopkins, halfblood son of two average muggleborns, was Hogwarts material. Jeanine did not think in these terms as Wayne did, but the shock and elation was the same.

The Hopkins family was small and modest, and they would have been amongst the most unassuming of the British population if it wasn't for their magical nature. They lived in a nice but modest two-storey house in Kent. Jeanine worked as a pre-O.W.L.s Arithmancy tutor. She managed to achieve a comfortable lifestyle for herself and Wayne after Wayne's father died (during You-Know-Who's war) by teaching almost exclusively for the children of very well-off families, even some noble families. The Hopkins family was not gentry like the majority of the alumni of Hogwarts by any means — Wayne's grandparents on both sides being regular working-class Muggles — but Wayne had been raised to know how to behave in society because of his mother's position.

It was actually because of his mother's position that Wayne had already known a few of year-mates before his first year. She was often invited to formal dinners and parties by her employers and she nearly always took Wayne along with her. Those get-togethers were where he became acquainted with a few Ravenclaw girls a couple of years ahead of him, Michael Corner in Ravenclaw and Lily Moon in Slytherin, and the ever-prickly Zacharias Smith of Wayne's own social circle. Wayne had never imagined that he'd somehow become a part of a group that Smith was a prominent member of, but it was a fact that he now simply had to grin and bear if he ever wanted to make something of himself.

"There will be times when you will have to things that you pray to God you didn't have to," his mother had told him once when Wayne complained about having to make nice with the snobby children she taught who looked down on him. "But if we want to live in this world with any measure of success we have to know when to pick our battles.

"We need to be in the good graces of these people, Wayne," she told him very plainly. "Our livelihood depends on it. What you have to consider is whether or not the satisfaction you might get from spiting those children will be worth the possibility that I will out of a job. I'm not saying you should let them bully you, and you should never go against your sense of right and wrong, but we have to make compromises if we want to get along with others. If you want to get anywhere in this world when you're grown, you will often have to decide if avenging a trivial blow to your pride is worth getting on the wrong side of someone in a higher position than yourself."

And so Wayne did his best not to provoke the ill tempers of the other members of the pack of Hufflepuffs he was a part of, going about this goal by being as agreeable as he could. He had to take advantage of every opportunity available to him if he was going to be a respectable adult, and it wouldn't do to tread on the toes of those that already had little use for him. He wasn't particularly clever or ambitious, so any position he achieved would have to come from knowing people in good places. He was dead lucky that Heri had taken a liking to him for whatever reason or else his slim future prospects would have been even slimmer.

Wayne was well aware that he was now in the paradoxical position of being expected to be great and being expected to be mediocre to the same degree. It was damn-near inevitable that he would land himself some position of authority or distinction — rare was the alumnus of Hogwarts that did not _at least_ become a government worker — but it was also equally inevitable that he would indeed become yet another of those no-name government workers who were but forgettable, replaceable cogs in the administrative machine that was the British Ministry of Magic. Wayne was no ground-breaker, he was not the sort to discover the cure for lycanthropy or revolutionise a field of study; it could be argued that it was his inborn destiny to be amongst the millions whose lives and deaths made no impact on the rest of the world save as a statistic.

He tried not to think such thoughts very often though. He didn't enjoy depression despite what his naturally melancholy disposition would lead some to think.

Wayne hadn't anticipated making many if any friends during his time at Hogwarts'. Even if he was acquainted with a handful of them, their relationship wasn't much past cordiality, and that was only with the couple amongst them that didn't outright look down on him. It seemed to be a cross that he would forever bear that he attracted the scorn of the sort that were inclined to belittling and the apathy of any other kind. Wayne was boring: he had no interesting pastimes, he wasn't particularly good at anything, and his communication skills were awkward and stilted. Other children just didn't like him; they seemed to come to that opinion instinctively.

It was because of this that Heri Potter continued to be a source of wonder for Wayne.

It was no secret to Wayne that the others of Heri's main circle merely tolerated him, only Hannah and Ernie being rather friendly since it was in their nature to be personable with anyone. Zacharias had no use for people he thought beneath him in importance; Sally-Anne thought he lacked any redeemable quality; and Megan didn't like any competition for Heri's attention, lame or otherwise. And yet despite all their resistance against him, Heri kept Wayne firmly at her side; she did not allow him to be driven away.

Wayne admitted that he had been a starstruck fan-boy when he first met Heri. It would have been hard not to be when she was so awe-inspiring. She was so open and nice! She didn't mind humouring their pestering for her attention! She somehow made anyone who talked to her feel important! She sat at the top of the class despite being muggle-raised! She had saved people's lives right in front of him!

It was only when Longbottom started worshipping the ground she walked on that Wayne noticed he was being just as embarrassingly reverent, but it was hard to stop when not long after his realisation she slew a Mountain Troll with its own club just like in the books about her. Wayne knew intellectually that she was a person like anyone else, but at the same time she _wasn't _just anyone else: she was The Girl Who Lived, Defeater You-Know-Who, a professional hero.

It was a wonder that she didn't have Hannah scare him off like the rest of the horde that wanted a piece of the growing legend that was Heri Potter. Wayne didn't understand why she tolerated Wayne — and Megan as well — when they were not so far removed from the rest of the grasping throng. Heri let Wayne linger but she didn't encourage Roger Malone who was a wiz at Astronomy and eagerly offered to do the homework for her; she smiled sincerely at Wayne but only gave small, shy ones when Terry Boot came around with books on creatures that she loved to read; she laughed at Wayne's corny attempts at humour but only tittered politely when Seamus Finnigan told outrageous jokes for her amusement. It didn't make any sense to him and he wished he could at least get a hint of her reasoning to relieve himself of the sense of forever toe-ing the edge of a precarious ledge that he could so easily be pushed off from at any time.

Heri was so very odd when it came to choosing the people she wanted around, favouring those who would have been outcasts if it wasn't for her. And it didn't appear to be pity either if her persistent affections for Flint was anything to go by. Perhaps she was an angel sent down from Heaven to save lonely souls from a life of solitude.

Wayne would admit if anyone had asked that he had been terrified that he would be forgotten when that Bulgarian Quidditch player started taking up so much of Heri's attention. Wayne had enough trouble staying relevant just amongst the people he more-or-less called his friends, competition from an international celebrity was not something he had been ready for. Oh, sure, Heri wasn't the shallow type like Megan and Sally-Anne who were easily bought by status and popularity, but that didn't change the fact that Wayne had little working for him already when it came to being interesting to others.

When Flint had graduated, Wayne had thought that Heri would be too upset by the loss of the older boy to pay any mind to any other fellow that was potentially boyfriend material. She had been dead gone on Flint and wasn't the type to move on in such a relatively short period of time. Wayne had thought that the time had finally come that Heri would come to the conclusion that she didn't need other guys when she had Wayne (and Ernie . . . _and_ Zacharias . . .). Not that Wayne thought he stood a chance in that way or anything, but if a miracle happened and she decided Wayne was what she wanted all along . . . well, he wouldn't be complaining or anything if that happened . . .

But no such thing happened. Viktor Krum swooped in at what should have been an opportune time and snatched up what should have been Heri's dwindling interest in romance. Oh, she hadn't given up on Flint or anything, but it was no secret amongst those who paid attention that if Flint didn't pull his head out of his arse and quick, Heri's 'very good friend, Viktor', would end up her new older gentleman of choice. It wasn't hard to tell that Krum wasn't about to let an old crush get in his way.

How was Wayne supposed to compete with that? He wasn't even trying to contend for Heri's affections that way and he was still outclassed. When it came down to it, Krum had way more to offer her than Wayne did. He had fame; he had money; he had charisma; he was even a Triwizard Champion like she was. If that wasn't enough, he had impressed her more than she let on when he had shown-off to coerce her into going to the Yule Ball with him.

Wayne wasn't sure if Heri even realised it, but she had a great deal of respect and attraction for physical prowess. It was baffling to Wayne; she had proved time and time again that she was superior to anyone else their age when it came to strength, magical or otherwise, and yet she became giggly when blokes who were definitely weaker than her despite their muscles preened for her, even the ponces she normally didn't encourage. (Wayne had definitely heard Cormac McLaggen bragging to his cronies about how Heri had actually blushed when he offered to let her touch his biceps.) She had punched a bludger and a fireball with her bare fists, taken on a thousand year old basilisk with only a sword, and sent a table of nearly a hundred of students into the wall with one push! Neither Flint, nor Krum, nor any else of the meat-heads that trailed after her could compare!

But — following that logic — that also meant that Wayne was even more outclassed than he had originally concluded. If the tossers that actually had traits that could get them somewhere with Heri — whether in her knickers or just in her good graces — were already out of their league by the sheer magnitude of Heri's . . . muchness? . . . then Wayne was essentially on the same level as an amoeba.

Suffice to say Wayne had spent a great deal of his fourth and fifth year utterly miserable about his lack of any admirable quality when he wasn't fretting over what calamity would befall Heri next.

On the topic of calamities, Wayne had never dreamed that his life would be so full to the bursting with the catastrophes that he had found himself involved in at least once a year if he was only counting the life-threatening ones. Now, it would have been awful enough if it was life-threatening for Wayne himself or one of the others in their cantankerous clique, but instead those disasters centred around Heri.

Wayne often wondered if it was a sign that he was unhealthily obsessed that he ranked harm to himself less important than harm to his friend/idol/object of reverence. He would then argued with himself that it was only logical that the loss of someone who was so obviously significant to the morality of their nation, never mind the scope of what she capable of accomplishing in the future, was clearly more important in the grand scheme of the world than a few kids who weren't nearly as influential.

(Wayne would then follow his original wondering with additional speculation if such personal conclusions made him an amoral psychopath. He had yet to decide one way or another on _that _matter yet.)

Personal mental health crises aside, Wayne spent quite a bit of his time wondering if today would be the day that the unthinkable happened and Heri was somehow extracted from the realm of the living. If it was not enough that You-Know-Who had returned from the edge of death, Heri had been doing poorly since she had been kidnapped. It was looking to him that if she was not murdered outright by Dark Wizards (no doubt taking several with her) she would instead succumb to whatever illness she had contracted.

It was utterly wretched of him, but Wayne had been feeling significantly less secure about his own personal safety since Heri had become . . . 'more delicate', to word it tactfully. The traits that made her awe-inspiring had not gone away — she was still charming, and kind, and wickedly strong, and brilliant with her wand — but it was hard to not despair when it looked like the life was being sucked out of her. He hadn't noticed it happening until near the end of fifth year (and didn't _that_ make him feel like the worst sort of berk?), but not only was she was suffering from collapsing bouts wherein she was left utterly unable to protect herself, her skin had become the colour of watered-down milk, likely a result of how utterly tired she seemed to be all the time.

Wayne had never been more terrified in his life than that day not a month into their fifth year, when he first witnessed Heri crumpling mid-stride and nearly taking a nasty tumble down the Grand Staircase. Her Bogle attendant assuring him and the rest of her usual crowd that she had simply had a sleep attack did little to assuage his fright.

"Miss Heri just got lost in her thoughts," The Bogle, Oleander, had explained to them as she fed Heri a potion.

"D-daydreaming makes her pass out?" Wayne had asked incredulously, watching with wide eyes as Ernie gathered Heri up in his arms to carry her to the Hospital Wing.

"Miss Heri is not completely tied down just right," Ollie had answered, trotting next to Ernie as their procession hurried along. "If her mind wanders, her soul wanders too."

Oleander's words were of course taken with a grain of salt. For all that Bogles and House-elves and other Hobs were Beings with high-level intelligence, they still did not have minds that were quite the same as humans. What Oleander meant and believed to be true was likely very different than how it was explained to her and what Wayne had understood of her words. If he was to accept what she had said at face-value then the situation was even more dire than Wayne thought. Narcolepsy was terrifying enough by itself, but Heri's soul wandering away from her body . . . ? That sounded closer to dying than Wayne wanted to think about.

And that was the rub: It couldn't be narcolepsy. At least not the muggle form of it. Wayne was no genius, but even he knew that Narcolepsy had nothing to do with a wandering mind, and it certainly didn't cause gradual albinism or whatever was happening to Heri. He would bet anything that it had something to do with whatever that Death Eater had done to her, but he was as ignorant as anyone else of what that could have been since even Heri wasn't completely certain considering she had been knocked out for part of it.

Wayne would admit to hovering even more than usual for all that it didn't do anything to help the situation. He just . . . he didn't know what else to do. He was utterly terrified about what would become of Heri and what would become of the rest of them if she was no longer around to . . . well, to keep the Dark forces at bay for a lack of better words. He knew it was idiotic to think that a single girl — no matter how amazing — was somehow preventing You-Know-Who from razing Britain to the ground by just existing, but . . .

Even if she hadn't been so awing . . . Heri was — Heri was _hope_. She was the hope of Wizards and Muggles alike. Heri was victory after a backbreaking battle that nearly ended in wretched defeat. She was proof that even when the chance for a happy ending was slim and it felt like the end was closing in, not all was lost. Like a wave of the hand from a sympathetic god, she had done what no one could have done. And damn Wayne to Hell that he was praying she would somehow do it again.

Wayne's mother had told him horror stories of how things had been before Heri defeated You-Know-Who the first time.

"It was dark times, love," his mother had told him sombrely when he had innocently asked about the Dark wizard that Heri Potter had defeated in the story she had read to him the night before. "And even dark days."

She had gone on to explain that Heri Potter and the Dark lord You-Know-Who were not just made-up like the other characters in his books were.

"You-Know-Who had been gathering followers for a quite a while beforehand, but no one had thought it would get to the point that it did. Most of us had assumed if was just another cult of puffed-up blood-supremacists that were all bark and no bite, nothing new really. Of course that was blown right out of the water when people started disappearing.

"No one knew what was going on. You'd see a neighbour or a co-worker one day but they'd be gone without a trace the next. Even people in important offices weren't spared. Not even the Aurors knew what was going on. We were jumping at shadows then, by the time they decided they didn't want to be stealthy any more.

"He and his minions came out in the open and declared that he was Lord —" she had then shuddered violently. "Well. There's a reason not many people dare to say his name even to this day. He put some sort of Taboo on it; if you made the mistake of saying his name, they would find you and —"

She had then took a moment to compose herself before she continued.

"Anyone that stood up to him ended up dead. Witches and wizards of known skill fought against him, and the Ministry churned out Aurors by the battalion to do what they could, but _nobody_ lived once he decided to kill them.

"People were frightened out of their minds and started turning on each other. Everyone suspected each other in some way, and it often happened that friendships of years and years were ruined by paranoia and terror. And they weren't exactly wrong to do so. It wasn't uncommon that a Death Eater would catch themselves a victim and put them under the Imperious Curse and an innocent person who had nothing to do with any of the fighting would end up murdering their own family in cold blood.

"All the while You-Know-Who's forces were growing. Some were afraid for their lives and thought to be on the winning side. Some wanted a bit of his power, and he was certainly getting himself power, whatever hellish ways he was achieving that. Dark days, dear, especially for us folk that weren't pure enough for their standard. It often happened that someone of Muggle descent would be . . . used as an example . . . a-and . . . _pieces_ . . .

"No one knew who to trust. We didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches or . . . terrible things happened.

"Now, when you weren't even a year old yet, You-Know-Who started targeting the Potter family. More correctly, he was gunning for a group of fighters that Dumbledore was leading in opposition, but he was very focused on the Potters and Longbottoms. They were the best witches and wizards of their time and they survived personal encounters with him on the battlefield more than once. I can only imagine that such a feat enraged him. When they went into hiding, he had people on the lookout for them.

"It eventually came to a head when he found the Potters on Halloween of '81. I don't know how he did it — the Potters were said to be hidden under a powerful enchantment — but they were found without a mark on them, so he must have made quick work of downing them both with Killing Curses before going for their daughter. Of course, after that, no one expected that Heri would somehow fend off a Killing Curse and destroy You-Know-Who in turn."

Wayne's mother had gone on to describe the celebration that had happened afterwards. People was crying and hugging in the streets. Songs and ballads were written in Heri's honour, and quite a few of the more spiritual sects made her a part of their practices by claiming her a saint or declaring her as some form of a deity or human avatar. The festivities had went on for several months and well into the next year if Wayne's mother was to be believed.

Wayne had grown up on stories of Heri Potter, whether the original tale of that Halloween night or those adventure books that he now knew were fictional. Every child raised in the aftermath of You-Know-Who's destruction shared an ingrained awe that gave them a sense of camaraderie with others that they likely wouldn't have any connection with otherwise if it hadn't been for that almost universal reverence for the girl that had saved them and their families from death and subjugation. Wayne gave and received little respect from other children his age, but he would always find someone to share an understanding look with when it came to matters of Heri.

Wayne knew he wasn't the only one who was fretting themselves to pieces over what would become of Heri. It was the reason he was being so much more forgiving when the others vented their frustrations on him by being even bigger arseholes than usual. To be perfectly correct, Hannah, Ernie, and Zacharias might actually have been worrying themselves even more than Wayne in all his despairing misery. They had always counted themselves as the ones that took care of Heri in whatever capacity she needed, whether as mental support or acting as physical walls to scare off those that made trouble for her. That she was now suffering and from something they could do nothing about was likely grating on them quite a bit.

Since the new school year had started, Wayne had been doing his best to be . . . supportive or whatever it was called for Heri since she was clearly having a more laborious time than before. It wasn't even just her bizarre narcolepsy that appeared to have gotten worse, she had been noticeably more pre-occupied with something as well.

Wayne could count on one hand the amount of times he had seen Heri so bothered before. One of those incidences was when Sally-Anne was petrified in the Hospital Wing, and another was when she was putting herself through the wringer to learn how to defend herself from dementors. That she was once again so thorough absorbed by something and for such a length of time meant nothing good.

It wasn't even the increase in her responsibilities either. Heri had always been absurdly competent, even to the point that Wayne couldn't begin to explain how she did it. In third year, when Wayne was scrabbling to keep up with his two extra lessons, she still had time to hang out with everyone and even tutor people that came asking for it, even with Quidditch practice and all those classes she was somehow taking. She hadn't faltered in fourth year either despite the Tournament demanding so much of her energy. In fifth year Wayne had been worried that all the work would finally get to her since she had Prefect duties on top of the rest the hoopla she was dealing with — never mind the reporters hounding her and the pack of Death Eaters breaking out from Azkaban — but still Heri made it look like she never even broke a sweat, not even her sleep attacks getting her down.

Quite frankly, it was terrifying. Wayne often claimed that things were terrifying since he was an unrepentant scaredy-cat, but Heri appearing anything less that 100% ready for anything was so out of the norm that it suddenly felt like literally anything else impossible — good or bad — could happen as well. Wayne didn't do well with the impossible, he was not properly equipped — physically or mentally — to deal with such things.

Oh, but how he wished he could do something! He had even joined in on the D.A.D.A. geared club Heri had started in hopes of helping in some way, if only to be target practice or cannon fodder.

The Defence Association, otherwise known as the DA, had been established after the mass outbreak from Azkaban. After deciding that they would do themselves no good merely sitting around being scared, they had form something of a duelling club in hopes of getting themselves somewhat prepared to defend themselves should worst come to worst. It took little time to get approval from the professors and less time after that to get a sizeable number of members. By the start of the new year, they had at least a third of the school as official members.

It didn't take very long for the members to start calling themselves 'Potter's Army' despite Heri's protests. The fact of the matter was that Heri lead the DA like a general training their troops and had established a chain of command to uphold order as she saw fit. It had been an odd decision in the eyes of those who hadn't yet seen Heri anything but her usual mild and agreeable self. It turned out that she could channel severity very well when it came to whipping people into fighting fitness.

"I wish this wasn't something we have to worry ourselves over," Heri had told them en masse when they were first going over the goals of the DA with the entire club. She had watched the struggling younger students with undisguised regret. "But we cannot afford to be helpless with the way things are going.

"We cannot afford to go easy when every single one of us are in danger," she continued, spearing each and every one of them with a sharp look. "They will come for us. It's only a matter of time. They will come for us because of who our families are and because they know very well that we have much more potential than the common magi to fight back if we get the chance. They will want to strike while we're still vulnerable, and they will _not_ be calling ahead to ask pretty-please if we can come out for a friendly duel. We can't afford to be caught off guard and we certainly can't afford to have people who can't even throw up a shield and run for cover.

"I can't force you to stay and learn, but if you're determined to be here you _will _learn to protect yourselves. If the time ever comes that Hogwarts is attacked and the castle is breached . . . We will _not _be going down without a fight."

As much as her words had drained out the excitement of joining the DA, they also inspired a great more respect and gravity for what they were doing. There were certainly no less tears and in-fighting, but no one ever again complained about the stringency of the drilling. Even if any had wanted to, the commanding officers wouldn't have tolerated any of it after they realised the gravity of their positions.

That was another thing that had been instigated in Heri's militia-style Defence group: commanding officers. A captain was voted in from each House, and to qualify for the position they had to be an upper-year who had gotten at least an E on their Defence Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.s. They were responsible for maintaining discipline and keeping track of how their subordinates were progressing. Under every captain were the lieutenants, the ones who did the best in practicals in each of the years. The lieutenants in turn would keep their units (their year-mates) on track and make sure none were left behind during drills.

It was actually a lot more militaristic than Wayne had originally been expecting, so he had ended up being not the most regular of participants when things were starting out. That was no longer the case of course, but he hadn't exactly gained himself much respect by jumping on the bandwagon so late, especially when everyone was taking participation so seriously now.

As of the new school year, the commanding officers were Roger Davies for Ravenclaw, Katie Bell for Gryffindor, Eugenia Gamp for Slytherin, and Gregory Munslow for Hufflepuff. There had been some fuss over who would lead the Hufflepuff faction since there were many that believed Heri would have been the best choice, but Heri was adamant that her official capacity as club president made it so it wouldn't be right for her to be a commanding officer. After some discussion it was decided that a seventh-year would be best for the job.

Wayne was privately of the opinion that they had decided that a seventh-year would be best so they wouldn't have had to deal with Zacharias glowering at whomever it was that he considered his competition for the position. Not that he would have been the best option even if he hadn't been such a raging arsehole; the best in their year that wasn't already involved in the running of the DA was actually Susan Bones, the niece of the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

In truth, the DA had fallen to Hannah and Granger's authority since club activities had started up again. As the DA's vice-president and secretary respectively, they were in charge when Heri had other matters to attend to, and it just so happened that she had quite a lot of other matters to attend to as of late. Outside of teaching spell-casting, leading drills on battle formations, and still having final say in important decisions, Heri had very little to do with the day-to-day running of the DA any more.

Wayne was now just realising that it might have actually been her increase in responsibilities that was causing Heri so much stress, because she had been delegating as many of the duties she had that she could to whomever she thought fit. For the DA, it was Hannah and Granger; for her prefect duties, it was mostly accomplished by Ernie, the other prefect for their year; for her Quidditch captaincy, she left the scheduling of practices and the planning of plays to Anthony Rickett, Beater and her self-appointed vice-captain. If something needed to be done that didn't need specifically her to do it, she handed it off to someone else.

Heri had never seemed the type to delegate, but Wayne supposed that everyone had their limits, even if some limits were greater than other's.

Thinking on it now, it really shouldn't have been a surprise that Heri was becoming overwhelmed. He had been there at her sixteenth birthday party where she had received her family's lordship ring from her godfather and was recognised by her family's magic as the rightful Countess of Hautmont. It might have been nothing more than an exciting formality to wrap up the party if it hadn't been decided then by whoever that Heri would start participating in the Wizengamot as well. Wayne didn't know who had thought _that _was a good idea, but he was seriously unimpressed with the state of their intentions towards Heri's well-being.

Seriously? School work, tutoring, prefect responsibilities, Quidditch duties, DA obligations, the shadow of You-Know-Who's forces hanging over head, a debilitating illness, the press clawing at her, and who knows what else was already pressing down on her, and now she had to attend to judicial-legislative duties she had no prior experience with as well? Wayne needed a lie-down just from thinking about it!

There was no doubt it was all getting to her. Her collapses had become so commonplace now that they no longer bundled her off to the Hospital Wing every time. Just that morning Heri had needed a wake-up _twice_ and not even three hours in between incidences!

He had been the one that was closest on hand the second time — not counting Oleander of course — and had deposited her on a bench in the Transfiguration Courtyard to await her recovery so they could continue on to the Great Hall. Hannah then sent Ernie and Megan ahead to prepare a plate for Heri so they could get some food in her as soon as possible.

Seeing her laid out on the bench, Wayne was once again struck by how fragile-looking Heri had become. He had never really noticed before how _tiny _she was. Even at sixteen she was the size of a first-year, and how unwell she looked made her seem even smaller. He could easily seen the blue outline of her veins standing out against her translucent skin, colouring the places where the skin was thinnest (like her eyelids) to appear almost purple. The shadows around her eyes made it look like she was the star of a Gothic horror film. He didn't know what to make of the strange gradient her hair now had, but it looked like she was bleeding out her vibrancy.

All in all, it was rather depressing.

A few minutes after Oleander administered the potion to speed up her awakening, Heri was rousing again.

"_Uggghh_ . . ." she groaned, tilting her head away from the light.

Hannah perked immediately.

"You all right?" she asked as she pulled an umbrella from her satchel and held it over Heri's head.

Hannah had become increasingly sensitive to Heri's more trivial needs since her kidnapping. If a certain tool could be useful to Heri at any point, Hannah carried it in her bag. She was nearly as intuitive as Sally-Anne was when it came to Heri's moods now as well. As Sally-Anne had doubled-back a few moments before for something she had left in the dorms, it was currently up to Hannah keep things moving along.

"_Mmm_ . . ."

A moment of shifting later, Heri was sitting up, smoothing down her brow bone to ease the burn in her eyes.

"Yeah . . ." she murmured, looking up at them through half-closed eyes. She gave them a bleary-eyed smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

For a split-second, Wayne could have sworn her eyes were a void of black. Another look after a few bewildered blinks on his part told a different story though.

"Wayne?" Heri said, giving him a look of drowsy concern. She had caught his confusion.

"Ah, it's nothing!" he said, ruffling his hair bashfully. "Shall we get you to breakfast now?"

Zacharias helped her to her feet and Wayne took care of her bag. With Hannah chatter cheerfully to ease the air, Heri was led to the Great Hall on Zacharias' arm.

The Great Hall was abuzz as usual, the time late enough in the morning that nearly every student had arrived. The ceiling mirrored the uncommonly sunny day they were having that October, casting dancing streaks of light across the tables. Combined with the up-beat atmosphere that came with the approach of Halloween, it made for a cheerful picture that was not at all congruent with the anxiety felt by those who were aware of Heri's condition. They had kept Heri's narcolepsy pretty well out of the public eye, so it was understandable that no one else was bothered, but it still felt like an insult to Wayne's sensibilities.

Ernie and Megan were waiting for them along with Longbottom and Granger. A plate of Heri's usual breakfast fare was ready for her, and full platters of warm food had been set aside for the rest of them. Alas, any appeal it might have had was dimmed by the squabble Megan and Granger were once again engaged it.

Wayne couldn't hold back a grimace. Just what they needed: another fight. One that Heri would no doubt end up mediating when she should have been taking it easy before classes.

"Can you lot just shut your bloody traps?" Zacharias griped, reaching for the platter of bacon.

"Keep out of it, Smith!" Megan snapped, scowling ferociously.

"Oh, now, let's not fight," Heri pleaded, looking around with an admonishing look. "It wouldn't do to start the day on an unpleasant note."

"Yeah, Megan," sighed Hannah. "Do you two really have to fight every time you see each other?"

"Well if _Smith _minded his own ruddy business," Megan declared hotly, crossing her arms, "and _Granger _knew when her blasted nagging was unwanted, _I_'d be having a grand time of it!"

"It's no wonder we're nowhere near finished with the project considering the way you'd rather sit around on your bum and moan instead of getting anything done!" Granger retorted, derision written all over her face.

"What project is this?" asked Heri before Megan could snipe back.

Granger huffed before simmering down to speak calmly to Heri.

"It's the Transfiguration project," she said. "You know the one. We're supposed to work together and use a common base to create a magical artefact through a combination of Transfiguration and any other branch of magic we decide on.

"I had _thought_," Granger continued, giving Megan a withering look, "that using a combination of Transfiguration and Charms would be easy enough to accomplish since they're both wanded magic — never mind that we're working as a four-man team with Terry Boot from Ravenclaw as well — but _apparently _doing her part by helping to charm the thing is just _too much to handle._"

"Now, Hermione . . ." Longbottom interjected hesitantly.

But he was cut off by Megan indignant squawking.

And then they were off again, all but clawing at each other in their contention.

"Wait," Heri interjected after a few more moments of quarrelling. "You mean you haven't finished yet? It's due next week!"

"That's exactly my point!" Granger cried, smacking the table for emphasis. "It's due next week and we're only half-way done! This is no time to be dithering!"

When no one made any attempt to back her up, Megan turned especially sour and refused to talk to anyone for the rest of the day, ignoring Heri's friendly overtures as well. Honestly, it would have been a blessing if she hadn't been so obnoxious about her continued silence.

Megan still hadn't gotten out of her foul mood the next day either, somehow getting more unbearable when Granger and Longbottom showed up again the next day and ended up discussing their project with the curious Heri.

"What is it that you're making?" Heri had asked, prompting a flood of words from Granger as she explained their entire outline.

Apparently they were hoping to create some sort of mood-controlled music-box, one that not only changed the type of music it played depending on the attitude of the person who wound it but change the stylistic design of the music-box dancers as well. It sounded fairly complicated considering it would essentially be self-transfiguring as an end product, and Heri was duly impressed by the long-winded explanation.

Granger was still going on about it when Megan came in, causing the sandy haired harpy to glower ineffectively.

"Just keep out of it right now," Sally-Anne told Megan discreetly before she could throw a fit. "As long as Heri's got her attention Granger won't be on your case. Of course," she continued, giving Megan a heavy-lidded unimpressed look, "she isn't wrong for wanting you to get your arse in gear and finish your blasted project already."

Megan would have blown off Sally-Anne's words of course if it hadn't been the stony suppressive look Zacharias gave her when he saw her opening her mouth again. Wayne had to admit, even though Zacharias was a Grade-A tosspot he was unrivalled in his ability to muzzle Megan when she was working up a froth.

"— golden obsidian is a bit hard on the eyes though," Wayne heard Heri say as his attention wandered back from the walking drama that was Megan Jones, "so I topped it with an encasing sheet of clear quartz.

"Could you get me the —?" Heri said to Oleander, only to be cut off by something being thrusted into her hands. "Ah! Thank you, dear!"

Heri then held up a slab of what looked to be stone or dark crystal for Granger and Longbottom to see. It was about a knuckle and a half thick and was cut in a perfect circle about the circumference of her face. On the edges he could see the distinct gleam of silver moulded into ivy-like filigree. What made his breath catch though was the surface of it. When tilted just right, the smooth glass-like face caught the light like a droplet of water and reflected back the captured image exactly like a mirror.

"I considered other vitreous stones as well," Heri continued, handing the object to Granger for her to examine, "but calcite and flourite were pathetically low on the Mohs Scale, never mind that they're soluble and that they can't achieve the crystal symmetry I wanted even if they went through inversion."

"What about some sort of beryl?" asked Granger as she inspected the thing. "They're in the hexagonal system as well, right?"

Heri shook her head.

"You know how easy it is to taint beryl with impurities. It's far too susceptible for something that needs to be able to take some knocks. I considered goshenite of course — I could have probably tinkered with the pleochroism to preempt any inconsistencies with the chromaticity — but the metaphysical properties were _completely_ wrong for this sort of thing. Self-control and creativity would make any image shown easily manipulated and distorted."

"What's that?" Sally-Anne asked, no doubt interested only because whatever it was resembled a mirror.

"It's a scrying stone," Heri replied, smiling at the show of interest. "It's what I've been working on for the project."

"H-have you been—been doing it . . . b-by yourself?" Longbottom asked in concern. "What about your partners?"

"Oh, don't worry, Neville," Heri assured him. "The rest of my group were perfectly helpful. It's just — well, I have similar assignments given to me in some of my other classes as well, so I decided to use this for those subjects too. We weren't assigned partners in my other classes, so I've been doing the extra stuff myself."

"You're using the same project for different assignments?" Granger gaped, looking scandalised.

"Well, I don't really have time to do multiple projects," Heri explained, giving a little shrug. "I'm a bit swamped at the moment. I asked the professors for permission, and they said as long as the parts that were specific to each class were completed correctly I can do as I please."

"Which classes are you turning it in for?" asked Ernie, who looked envious he hadn't thought of doing the same.

"Mmmm . . ." Heri pondered for a moment. "Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, Divination, Arithmancy, and Ghoul Studies."

"Wait, how can a mirror made of rock fit all of those categories?" Megan asked, looking baffled and outraged. It seemed she had pulled herself out of her sulk to be indignant again.

"It's a _scrying stone_," Heri said again, this time a bit more pointedly. "Besides using Transfiguration to form it, I had to used a combination of runes and Arithmancy to enchant it."

Here she turned it over to show a complicated matrix of rune formations engraved in the silver backing.

"It's used much like a crystal ball — it shows the past, present, future, possible outcomes and whatever — so Professor Trelawney will accept it as a divining instrument. And it can be used to learn the fine details of people's defining circumstances, ghosts included, so it's a perfect fit for my Ghoul Studies assignment too, which was to create a tool that can be used to help us when we encounter spirits and the undead. Actually, I might be able to ask Professor Flitwick to consider it as an extra-credit project as well since enchanted objects fall under the Charms category too.

"I have to thank you, Neville," she then said, smiling brightly at the Gryffindor boy. "I was properly stumped on what I was going to do to handle all of my assignments, but then I was using that crystal ball you got me for some Divination homework and it suddenly hit me."

"A-Ah . . ." Longbottom stuttered, going red in the face. "Y-you d-d-don't ha-ave to th-thank—thank me! I-I'm just glad it h-helped you e-even a l-l-lit-tle bit!"

Wayne didn't pay much attention to it at the time, but the envious look on Megan's face that morning coupled with the positively foul temper she was suffering from lately should have been proper warning that she was on the edge of going completely off and violently.

That evening at dinner they had the dubious pleasure of receiving the Evening Prophet, the special edition of the Daily Prophet that went out when whatever news the had couldn't wait until the next day to be sent out. As of late, it had been used to deliver the news of Death Eater attacks, and a few edition had already been the bearers of ill tidings concerning the continued safety of the families of students. To put it plainly, the news of death in the family had come with the Evening Prophet before, and no one was eager to receive it again as it could mean the loss of a loved one.

On that occasion, the paper reported that there had miraculously been less death and injury than usual after the previous night's raid. It was cold comfort, but none of the ones who had died were family to any of the students, causing an almost universal sigh of relief. Unfortunately, one of those that had been caught in the crossfires and was now hospitalised was —

"_GWEN_!" Megan yowled, horror written all over her face.

There, on the front cover, was a photo of Healers swarming all over the people who had been carted over to St. Mungo's. Amongst the injured was a battered Gwenog Jones, Captain of the Holyhead Harpies and Megan's older sister.

The girls immediately swarmed Megan, looking just as aghast. But as soon as Heri reached out, presumably to hold the distraught girl's hand, her hand was smacked away.

Heri yelped in shock and recoiled.

"Megan?" Heri asked, looking bewildered. "What —?"

This time she was slapped.

"Miss _Jones_!" the teachers cried from where they were bustling over.

In the few seconds of confusion, the situation had changed from the girls trying to console Megan in her time of need to Hannah and Zacharias restraining the shrieking Megan by holding her against the table and forcing her arms up her back while Sally-Anne, Ernie, and Wayne stood protectively in front of the perplexed and hurt Heri, Oleander huddled up to her side.

"This is _your _fault!" Megan was bellowing, tears trickling down her face. "My sister's hurt and it's all your fault!"

"Miss Jones, control yourself!" Professor Sprout commanded, looking utterly appalled. "Twenty points from Hufflepuff and three weeks of detention for attacking another student!"

"Oh, so she gets special treatment and gets to sit around doing nothing, but _I _get in trouble for pointing it out?!" Megan spat, struggling against the grip Hannah had on her wrists.

"What the heck are you even talking about?!" Hannah yelled, giving her a good shake. "Heri's done nothing wrong at all, and now you're attacking her for trying to comfort you?!"

"COMFORT ME!" the raging hell-cat shrieked, her face turning into a proper mess of tears and twisted features. "I wouldn't need any comfort she wasn't sitting on her arse while people are getting killed! She's supposed to be the defeater of You-Know-Who, right? What the hell is she doing acting like she doesn't have a job to do?! _MY SISTER NEARLY DIED_! WHY HASN'T SHE KILLED YOU-KNOW-WHO YET?!"

"That's quite enough, Miss Jones!" the thundering voice of Dumbledore. His stern visage was one the students had never seen before on his usually jovial face. "You will be escorted to my office where your parents will be contacted, but do not thing for a moment that this appalling behaviour is anywhere near excusable!"

Megan was extracted from Hannah's and Zacharias' hold by a murderous looking Snape, who all but flung her at Professors Sprout and McGonagall. She was then marched out of the Hall like a criminal by the deputy headmistress and her Head of House amongst the agitated chattering of students gossiping.

Meanwhile, Professors Flitwick had hopped onto the bench Heri was seated at and was examining her face for damage.

"My dear!" he exclaimed, looking troubled, "You're bruising quite a bit! I hadn't realised she hit you so harshly!"

True to his words, the right side of Heri's face was already starting to purple, a hand imprint standing in stark red contrast to the rest of her skin.

"I-It actually doesn't hurt that much!" Heri said, appearing to be trying to assuage the professor's concern. "Megan's . . . not exactly the . . . strongest. It's just . . . it's just — well, I-I've been bruising so much . . . easier lately. I bumped my leg the other day and — and it looked like I'd been clubbed with a bat!"

If anything, Heri's words made the distress of those listening even worse. They were now reminded it wasn't just Megan attacking another student in a fit of insanity, it was Megan attacking a heavily unwell girl who was currently in a very breakable condition.

"Oh, no, this won't do at all!" Professor Flitwick said. "To Madam Pomfrey with you! That cheek will need bruise balm if nothing else."

And so here they were again, delivering Heri to the Hospital Wing, but in even a worse mood than usual.

"I'll kill that girl once I see her again," Zacharias was muttering angrily, looking nearly as murderous as Snape had. "Didn't I tell you, Potter? You've always been too kind. I always knew she was a two-faced bitch too caught up in herself to be of any use to anyone."

Heri merely sighed, not looking at anyone.

Though she didn't say anything, they knew she was distraught by the way she was once again holding Iolanthe in her arms. Since fourth year, Heri rarely indulged herself with her doll in public unless she was exceptionally upset.

"I'll kill her," Zacharias grumbled again, this time glancing around at the rest of them as well.

Their gazes joined and once again Wayne was united in understanding with the people who were his friends despite everything. In this case, petty differences came second to the agreement that Megan Jones no longer had any place amongst them, and that shunning would be the least of her problems if she tried anything ever again. Attack Heri Potter? Not on their watch.

Wayne Hopkins was no one special, but that was okay. It didn't take anyone special to know that there were things in this world that were worth fighting for.

* * *

**O**ne of the things Heri learned very quickly to get used to was Namtar's hovering presence. One would have thought that Death incarnate had better things to do than leer out from dark crevices like a sex-offender at innocent school-girls minding their own business, but this was apparently not the case.

"Don't you have souls to reap or something?" Heri had once rebuked when she noticed him trailing after her on her way to the Forbidden Forest.

"Not at all~" Namtar had crooned from the hollow of a tree's roots, his eyes and teeth gleaming like out of the darkness like the Cheshire Cat. He then oozed out like discharge from a gory wound and slithered through the grass like a snake.

Heri had instinctively pulled her skirt more securely around her legs, not trusting him to not sneak a peek up her skirt if he had the chance. Namtar noticed her action and affected a mien of wounded offence, but Heri was having none of that.

"All the other incarnations of death taking care of it then?" Heri said, not letting him get away without an explanation.

"Death needeth not to travel any distance, my lady," Namtar said, surging up as a vaporous mist that drifted along in front of her as she walked, "we are forever in all places wherein things may expire. Much liken to the God of the Abrahamic religions are we, perfect in our ubiquity. This Namtar may be attending to his lady fair, yet death delayeth not for any who would so ask of it."

"So . . . so you don't do any actual reaping?" she asked as she stopped to dress down for her usual patrol with the herd. "What if nutters like Voldemort show up and make horcruces and such?"

"Death mayn't become lost when one goeth upon a journey to evade our grasps," Namtar scoffed, drifting around her. "There be no ministry above the law of death."

"Then what has Voldemort been doing then?" Heri retorted. "It seems to me he's been doing a bang up job of not dying."

"My lady yet beholdeth the world with the eyes of Man," Namtar had then replied serenely. 'Did this self-styled 'Lord' not achieve his first demise before such a time that those not endowed with magic would perish naturally? In sooth, is it not merely the middle years of their life? And is five and fifty years not considered only the bloom of adulthood amongst wizardkind? And will he not soon expire once more under the just hand of my lady well before his eightieth year? Nay, Mistress, this charlatan will not run beyond the reach of Death. For his crimes will he reach the Veil afore his umquhile contemporaries."

Namtar was exceptionally good at inducing existential crises and philosophical musings with his words, never mind that he didn't seem to mean to do so. With his near constant hovering since he had arrived, Heri found herself lost in thought about the workings of the world more often than she had ever had in her life, resulting in an annoying amount of collapses.

She wanted to assure her friends that she hadn't suddenly taken a turn for the worst as they were obviously thinking, but explaining that the psychopomp of her second father's pantheon had taken to distracting her with thoughts of mortality and the balance of existence wasn't something you just brought up in a conversation. She had been thinking of telling Ernie and Zacharias of course, it felt appropriate somehow that they and the other demigods of Hogwarts would know, but demigods were rather sensitive about the amount of contact (or lack thereof) they had with their godly progenitors, and she didn't know how to bring it up without it coming across as bragging. Goodness knows she didn't need any more misdirected envy blowing up in her face, metaphorically or literally.

Outside of being a general distraction, Namtar was actually a soothing presence when it came to situations that hinged on human sentiments. He had made it so that Heri had actually been feeling as even-tempered as she outwardly appeared more often than not. Whether distracting her from her own outrage with his cosseting when Megan had slapped her or keeping her in a good humour with his mocking words during tedious Wizengamot meetings, Heri didn't have a chance to become infuriated while her self-appointed Court Jester was there.

She had been confused at first why no one else saw Namtar as he pranced about her, making a general bother of himself. Her heart all but burst out of her chest when he came creeping out from under the seat of the Hogwarts Express that she was sat on with the majority of her friends present, but not a one of them reacted to his presence, not even Ernie, Zacharias, nor even _Luna._

When given a baffled, demanding look from Heri, Namtar merely bared his hands, completely at ease.

"Death doth walk unseen," he then said in explanation. "No living eyes may bear witness save those few who do walk hand in hand as brethren."

And so Heri had then lost any reasonable excuse to tell Namtar to shove off for the majority of the time. The excuse that she couldn't be seen with a higher being hanging around was made moot. Of course her reluctance toward his continued presence was eventually eased when he made himself more of a boon than a bother.

There had been one particular instance that Heri had been quite appreciative that Namtar invisibly followed her around to dissuade her from her ire. It was during her third meeting with the Wizengamot and she had been in an already foul mood that day without the patronisation of senior Magistrates.

Heri wasn't sure what she had been expecting when she had decided to attend sessions well before she would have been expected to, but it certainly wasn't the mind-numbing tedium that she received. That and condescension from those that looked at her and saw nothing but a little girl. Granted, Heri _was _a little girl (sixteen for a wizard was still considered early childhood) but she was nowhere near the youngest person to have ever sat in the Wizengamot; that distinction went to a 19th-century Earl by the name of Ciel Phantomhive at the age of ten. One would have thought that being a well-respected public figure would have earned her some benefit of the doubt.

During her third meeting, wherein they were being called to judge the sentence of a fellow who had gotten thoroughly shitfaced and went shouting down a heavily trafficked road about the dragon reserve not far from the area, Heri had tried to ask for clarification on a matter only to be cut-off and dismissed by a gangling twig of a man with the most disgustingly wobbly jowls she had ever had the misfortune to witness. It was Causticus Nott, Theodore Nott's great-uncle and one of those that had looked down on her since she had given her inductive vows.

"Never mind your pointless questions, girl," he had sneered from within his ilk of blood supremacists in the Cavalier seating section. "We don't have time to drag out this judgement just to pander to children who would be better off left to their school books! I move that we now call for a vote!"

"_Contemptuous, curmudgeonly cur of a shameful stain of a house_!" Namtar had hissed. "He is envious of you, my lady. I do see it upon his shrivelled soul!"

Sirius' look of pure murder communicated a similar sentiment. It was only Heri pacifying grip on his forearm that kept her godfather from snarling back.

"_Mr _Nott," Heri had then replied, going wide-eyed and doll-faced as she threw Nott's lack of a noble title into his face. She had noted that he was touchy about it; he soured whenever he was addressed formally. "I apologise for encroaching on your patience on this trivial matter of the strictest law of our nation. It had seemed to me that no one had yet confirmed nor denied if any Muggle had actually heard what Mr Clinkscales had said that evening, but the topic must have already been discussed in a manner of speaking above my level of comprehension. Do excuse me, sir."

She had no personal conflict with the Nott boy she went to school with, but if this insect of a man was an example of what Nott the younger could be like in the future, the two of them and any family they might have in future would be sitting firmly in opposition. Heri had designated her seats as Parliamentarian when she had arrived at the administrative offices to re-initiate her family's position, and she had been on the receiving end of many stink eyes from those of the Cavalier Party for throwing the balance of voting power well into the Parliamentarians' favour with her fourteen votes, but not even the Magistrates who were well-known to have family members who were or are Death Eaters were as tongue-curlingly _revolting_ as Causticus Nott.

"This blaggard thinketh himself superior," Namtar jeered in her ear, preventing Heri from actually hearing the defamation Nott was no doubt raining down on her in an attempt to cow her. "In sooth lesser hath he been from his birthing. 'Tis only by the fortune that his elder brother and brother-son did perish that he doth sit 'pon his self-made throne, and only 'til such a time that the son of his brother-son claimeth the right for himself!"

It was difficult to feel anything but placid contempt for anyone when the personification of death was whispering in her ear about the multiple reasons the person in question was barely a speck of dust in the grand spectrum of things. She had never been one to take an unjust dressing down without biting back just as harshly, but a Wizengamot meeting was no place for such demonstrations. If she wanted to successfully nudge the Ministry into a more stringent wartime regime she couldn't be see as anything but in control of herself. It wouldn't have done to affirm certain beliefs that she was nothing but an immature child either. She would have been able to control her pique without Namtar there, but there was no contesting that her ire still would have been visible for all to see without him tempering her.

Namtar also proved to be of great help when it came to research on soul magic. It went without saying that he was a dab hand when it came to matters of the soul. He didn't participate directly — to do so would go against the impartial nature of death — but he answered the questions she asked in a clear, concise manner and he never he tried to gloss over 'questionable' topic like Professor Dumbledore did.

"To taint your beautiful mind with such wicked knowledge would be a crime to my sensibilities," the headmaster had told her once.

Heri had wanted to ask if the headmaster thought she had lived in a bubble her entire life and never learned that there was some fucked up shite out there.

But Namtar never coddled her like that. He treated her with a kind of respect she didn't get from anyone else. That wasn't to say that her family and friends looked down on her — far from it. It was just that . . . Namtar treated her like she was grown. He didn't see a little kid when he looked at her, he saw her as fully competent adult that didn't need any sugar-coating. It was . . . nothing like she had ever been treated but very nice, especially when she wanted to complete her self-assigned tasks in as timely a manner as possible.

It was because of this great faith concerning her thoughts and decisions that Heri finally concluded that the other semi-divine students could no longer remain ignorant of the reality of the situation with Voldemort.

Heri had been hesitant to involve others lest they be made bigger targets, but if she had help in the form of people like herself . . . well, they needed all the help they could get. Demigod she may be, that did _not_ automatically mean she was inherently capable of single-handedly defeating an army of violent, rampaging warlocks several times her age and experience-level who were headed by the most blood-thirsty Dark Wizard of the modern age. Professor Dumbledore seemed to be under the impression that getting rid of Voldemort's horcruces would be enough to stop the madness, but even taking out the monstrosity that was Voldemort wouldn't make the Death Eaters self-implode or whatever.

Which was why she was now lingering longer than usual after a DA meeting.

Instead of the Room of Requirement they had been using on and off since Umbridge had tried her hand at strangling any potential uprising, they were on the grounds near Hagrid's hut that day. There was a fairly heavy rain that hand been persisting for the entirety of the week that Heri been using to provide training experience for less than ideal battle terrain. Lo and behold, they had been slipping and tripping left, right, and centre, but they eventually got used to the poor visibility and unstable footing. Heri was actually quite proud of them and was glad they were leaving today visibly exhausted but much improved.

"Ernie, call our crowd together," she bid her friend very seriously when the majority of the rest of the club had already left.

"What? Our — ? Oh!" Ernie said in realisation at her pointed look. He flicked his eyes to the sides very conspicuously. "You mean . . . ?"

Heri was tempted to roll her eyes at Ernie's complete lack of stealth. It was a good thing she had had the sense to pull him aside first else they would have caught the attention of everybody nearby. As it was, their private discussion had already been noted by the more observant members of the dispersing DA.

"Yes," Heri said instead, channelling all the severity she had. "There's something you all need to know."

* * *

**O**ne of the things in his life that gave Albus Dumbledore as much pain as it did pleasure was watching as the students under his care grew out of their tender beginnings and became their adult selves. Under his eyes had several generations of the most remarkable and most infamous of witches and wizard took their first steps in achieving their lofty accomplishments. He had seen the start of celebrated heroes and notorious criminals alike. And for every one of them, beloved or feared, he couldn't help but be amazed each and every time that the little saplings that he did his best to coax out reached the points that they did.

He supposed it was his penance for the follies of his youth that for every bright and beautiful soul he could proudly say he educated there would inevitably be those that would fall to iniquity despite his best efforts. He was no less proud of the shining examples of great potential put to good use, but it always left a bitter taste on his tongue thatmany would inescapably dig themselves knee-deep into wicked pastimes no matter what he tried.

The best example of this was of course Tom Riddle, but that was nowhere near where the list ended. To this day, Albus still remembered the sweet and eager faces of Waldon Macnair, the elder Carrow twins, and even Bellatrix Lestrange when they took their first steps into Hogwarts. Had they not allowed hatred and violence to consume them they could have gone on to be more than the wretched refuse that rotted away within the disgusting den that was of Azkaban.

It went without saying that Albus found himself on occasion wondering which of the latest generation would end up wasting their potential on false gods and pointless hatred. It was no longer a question of _if _but of _who_, _how many_, and _to what extent._ It was not that he had given up hope in the goodness within them, but he had come to learn very well that the fates of other wizards were not something he had any means of controlling.

And so Albus Dumbledore often sat in his office and wondered over the circumstances he _did _have some measure of control over and pondered what actions he could possibly take so that the least amount of his students would find themselves at sticky ends.

The focus of his thoughts of late had of course been Herakles Potter. How could it not have been when she was now the turning point of so many aspects of their society? Even outside of her prodigious influence on her classmates she was affecting the inner-workings of their government and the lives of the common people simply by existing. He considered what Magical Britain might become if she began to actively assert her influence and had yet to conclude if such an end would be ideal.

That was not to say that he believed that she would strive for destructive changes as Voldemort did, but Albus couldn't help but be wary of what could come of a demigod and a powerful one as Heri was proving herself to be having an even greater sway than she already did. Albus believed Heri to be a sensible and just-minded girl, but that was the hitch: she was still a _girl. _She was a young girl still in her infancy by the measure of a wizard's life-span, and she still had so much more to learn of the world before grown wizards and witches should have been looking to her for wisdom and guidance.

What could that sort of expectation do to a child? A child should be free to learn and make mistakes with security in the knowledge that they would grow better in time. With all of Britain looking to her for leadership, she would no longer have the luxury of having her minor mistakes overlooked, and she would learn the hard way that the more powerful the wizard, the bigger the reach and the consequences of their mistakes.

His heart had gone out to Heri when she was so viciously accused by a dearly-kept friend for the actions taken by the Death Eaters. It was as he had feared: responsibility for matters she had no business shouldering were being pinned to her from people who did not realise that she was as human as anyone else. In a manner of speaking of course. It was saddening to see that even someone who should have known her very well still had unreasonable ideals about her. He supposed it was not too surprising; even his own colleagues tended to put him on a pedestal despite coming to know very well that he was far from infallible.

Albus had decided to take Heri under his wing this year. How could he not when she needed a steady hand to guide her through the difficulties she was now wading through? The responsibilities and demands she had decided to impose on herself when she came to understand the reality of the prophecy. He had originally planned to induce a detraction of her duties around the school so she would have less unnecessary pressure outside of aiding him with the hunt for the horcruces, but the stubborn girl had actually added more weight onto herself by declaring she would attend Wizengamot meetings on top of everything else!

He certainly admired her wilfulness, but he could not hep but worry she was taking on more than she could manage. Granted, she was still in possession of the Time-Turner she had been granted three years before, but there had to be an appropriate measure of rest even with living every day twice. He wondered if it was a facet of being a demigod that she was able to keep up such a labour-intensive schedule for such a long period of time. Even with all his magisterial positions, Albus did not traverse through the Forbidden Forest every second day to hone his physical combat prowess to the exacting standards of a tribe of centaurs as Heri did; he imagined that he would have succumbed to death years ago if he did.

Since the approach of the winter holidays, a shadow had come to hang over his thoughts as he progressed in educating Heri in his knowledge of the horcruces. Severus had informed him that Voldemort had breached the Department of Mysteries through means of an inside agent and been furious to learn that the prophecy he was after had already been retrieved. Severus' position was made precarious when it was revealed that he had been part of the retrieval and had failed to inform Voldemort of it, but he had maintained his cover with some fast talking and by revealing the original prophecy in its entirety.

"He has become more fervent than ever to see the girl dead," Severus had said grimly in conclusion, his hands shaking in effect from the Cruciatus he had received as punishment. "I suggest you hasten in your excursions unless you wish to see the population decimated once again."

'Decimated'; that was the word Severus had used, and he was not wrong in using it. The last war had been a tragedy of a slaughter, resulting in the end of countless families and clans. Of the children who lived to know a life without constant bloodshed, the majority of them were orphans, outnumbering the children with at least one parent to care for them by a good two thirds. Both sides of the field had lost a devastating amount of lives, and Albus did not relish rehashing such a travesty of a 'purification'. Voldemort had yet to break out into anything larger than the occasional pillaging of a village, but it would not be long before he became arrogant in his powers once more.

They were running out of time. The horcruces had to be destroyed as soon as possible. _All _of them.

Heri had been a gem in her assistance to him, performing impeccably when Albus charged her with the mission to convince Horace to part with the memory of his conversation with Tom about horcruces so they could gain more insight, and she was always a thoughtful sounding board for his pondering when it came to discussions. Between the two of them they had already found and destroyed Ravenclaw's diadem which she had found in the Room of Hidden Things, a location found within the matrix of the Room of Requirement. If that wasn't enough, Slytherin's locket had been found in 12 Grimmauld Place of all places, hidden in a drawer in the bedroom of the late Regulus Black. He knew he had yet to gain her trust back fully since the incident where he became unhinged in the presence of the Resurrection Stone, and he was loathe to ruin all goodwill between them when he would inevitably have to tell her the reality of the grim situation.

How was Albus to tell a girl not even out of her school years that she would have to perish for the tyrant terrorising the nation to be defeated? How could he expect her to knowingly bear that weight? Already he was asking her to ready herself to fight; how could he ask her to _die_?

He had come to think of her much like a protégée, one he would have entrusted to carry on the good fight when it came the time that he would leave this plane, and he wondered now if this was another aspect of the penance he was obliged to give that he would have to offer up a child he loved so dearly as a sacrifice to rectify the horrors caused by the boy he had failed the most grievously.

And here she was now in front of him, just come in for their biweekly meeting.

He had heard word from Filius, the Defence Association's club advisor, that she had taken a leaf from Alastor's book and had been working the students to react at the drop of a hat. Indeed she appeared to have gotten her hands on an Auror's training manual somehow (possibly from one of the Aurors now guarding the school) and had been modifying the methods to suit her needs. Filius had gone on with enthusiasm, boasting of not only skilled duellists but surprisingly capable fighting units. They had battlefield simulations every Friday so the students could become used to working together. And, if the diminutive professor was to be believed, Heri had incorporated flying into the mixture as well, gathering up skilled flyers from the available Quidditch players to create a sort of mounted cavalry.

For all that Albus admired the girl for her ability to rally her classmates for confrontation, he dearly wished that they did not feel that they had to do so. He was not blind to the implications of even the youngest of the students being enlisted to train; they believed they were still not safe even within the walls of Hogwarts. He could not blame them for thinking so, of course; in times of troubles such as these, it felt as if nowhere in the world was safe.

She looked positively dead on her feet, Albus noted. If he recalled correctly, she should have just come from Quidditch practice after meeting with the Defence Association. And she was not the type to slack up on the intensity of the exercises simply because she would end up enduring a greater amount of it. It was an admirable trait that he imagined would make the world a more efficient place if it were shared on a greater scale.

He did not envy her the exhaustive work it must have took to head such physically geared assemblies. Even in his long-past youth he was a scholar before anything else, having no great ability when it came to athletics. And it looked now that he had chosen for the best for he surely would not have had the energy for his studies if he had joined in with such activities.

It felt appropriate somehow that she would learn the truth when she felt as if she had nothing left to give.

"Miss Potter," Albus said solemnly, regarding the exhausted child almost trembling in one of the visitor chairs in front of his desk. He hardened his heart. "I regret to say that there has been a detail of grave import I have yet to inform you of."

* * *

**I**f there was one person in this world who Draco Malfoy knew for certain that he despised, it was Heri Potter. Blasted Potter who snubbed her nose and chose Hufflepuff of all Houses! Ruddy Potter who humiliated him and chose tubby _Longbottom_ over him! Fucking Potter who undermined his power-plays time and time again! Miserable, damned, beastly, wretched, infuriating shrew of _bitch_ who had enough gall to usurp his birthright as the heir to the House of Black and then turn around and coerce his own mother into her schemes!

Draco hated her! He hated her more than anyone he could think of! If he could live to see her brought low he could die happily in that instant! When the Dark Lord had instructed him to spy on her to better learn how to destroy her, he had been over the moon!

Since the start of school year Draco had been covertly keeping an eye on her, keeping tract of her as per the Dark Lord's orders. Draco had eyes on her whenever he could get away with it inconspicuously, and his ears were forever to the ground, listening for even the smallest, insignificant details. He had been commanded to have Potter under surveillance, and he wasn't about to muck it up and incur the Dark Lord's wrath.

Draco had only heard stories of the glory days of the war and of the Dark Lord before, but the extent of his temper hadn't been given its due. Oh, Draco's mother had hinted heavily that it was formidable, and his father had actually shuddered at the thought, but those descriptions paled in comparison to what Draco witnessed in what should have been the comfort of his own home.

So, no, Draco wasn't messing around any longer, he wasn't going to bungle what was an arguably simple task — one of the easiest that the Dark Lord had assigned to anyone — and bring down dishonour (at the _very least_) upon his family. He had seen the torture and suffering the Dark Lord bestowed upon anyone who displeased him (even _Severus_) and if Draco was to see his family live to ascend to the rank in the Dark Lord's kingdom as they were promised he had to do his job properly.

But, oh, Potter was as slippery as a freshly spawned salamander! If Draco hadn't known better he would have thought she was evading him on purpose! He didn't know how she did it but the only times Draco was one hundred percent certain where she was were when she was in public places, and that wasn't even most of the time. He would catch glimpses of her off and on, but whenever he tried to tail her she would disappear on him. There had actually been a few times where she had turned in to a long corridor that was completely free of any exit save the end of it and when he went to follow after her she was nowhere to be seen! If there were hidden passageways that she was using Draco had yet to find any of them.

Potter had to be leaving the castle grounds somehow, whether with permission or not. There was no other possible way that she would be able to escape Draco so otherwise. The question that came with that conclusion was: where was she going and what was she doing there?

Draco soon came to the conclusion that she was getting out and about with full permission from the school. Why else would Dumbledore ask for her presence so often? They were obviously up to covert operations in an attempt to oppose the Dark Lord! Well, they were leaving on Ministry business at the very least — Wizengamot related judging by the official looking owls Potter had been receiving — but they were surely trying to sway the rest of the governing body to a more anti-Dark state of mind! And who knows what else? Draco had been living with his father long enough to know that the rate of Potter's disappearances from grounds did not perfectly coincide with the session schedule for the Wizengamot.

But such information was apparently not at all what the Dark Lord had been expecting.

"It is fully obvious to anyone who pays attention that the old fool is involving Potter in something outside of petty _Ministry business_!" the Dark Lord had thundered as he held Draco under a torture curse. "I want the _details_, little Malfoy! Exactly what are they doing? What is their schedule for doing it? How can we best sabotage their efforts? Better yet: capture the girl outright and deliver her to me! Are you so incompetent that you cannot handle such a simple task?!"

And so the perimeters of his assignment had been expanded to kidnapping Potter as well.

Draco had the appropriate amount of fearful respect for the Dark Lord — it had been battered into him if nothing else — but Draco wasn't sure if the Dark Lord completely realised what it was that he had told Draco to do. Aside from being damn near impossible to tail for some reason, Potter was almost constantly surrounded by her sycophants; was monstrously strong to the point of insanity; had gone toe to toe against the best of Europe's schools and had won; was now leading the equivalent of an army who had been trained to follow her orders in a blink; and if that was not enough, she had gone against the Dark Lord himself and had survived without lasting damage. Never mind that the school was under Auror security now and Draco had yet to beat her in any sort of confrontation between the two of them yet — loathe as he was to admit it even to himself.

Kidnap Heri Potter? Why not just tell him to kill Dumbledore?! The chances of Draco achieving such things were more or less the same!

But Draco had to. His father was already on thin ice because of his lack of effectiveness at countering the political manoeuvring of Dumbledore's crowd, and his mother had fallen to disfavour when she begged the Dark Lord to not give Draco the Dark Mark while he was still in school. It was only by the grace of the fact that the Malfoy family was indisposably useful that their lord's wrath had not become the end of them. So Draco would take on his daunting task, but he now lived in constant dread that he would one day receive news from his lunatic Aunt Bellatrix that his parents "proved themselves to be traitors by no longer serving their lord in all ways as they should have!" and that Aunt Bellatrix herself had killed them if not their master himself.

Months of no results in any of his endeavours had Draco exhausted and visibly anxious. No matter what tail he pinned on Potter they came back empty handed. No matter who he eavesdropped on they had no notion of what she was doing beyond what he already knew. Not ever her stupid clique knew anything!

It was getting to the point where Draco was wondering if he would be better off just offing himself to save himself from the painful death he was sure the Dark Lord would give Draco when he came to know just exactly how much of a failure Draco's efforts had been. And then Draco wouldn't have to witness his parent being killed either . . . yes, maybe he should just —

The sound of voices and footsteps made Draco falter in his stride.

Draco had been wandering the school listlessly in a futile attempt to find Potter once again. He had already given up all hope of success, but he wasn't about to be accused of not doing his duty to the Dark Lord by one of the other Death Eater children in Slytherin. Any such speculation would lead to the punishment of his parents, and god dammit, they were all he had. If patrolling the school would spare them any amount of pain, Draco would do it. It was this determination that had seen him wandering towards the Astronomy Tower and stumbling upon a conversation.

"— you sure you're quite alright, sir?" Draco heard someone say.

That voice. That was Potter's voice!

Draco flattened himself against the wall and strained his ears breathlessly.

Was this finally something? After all this time?

"Thank — dear, I'll — just fine —" was the distorted answer Draco just made out over the distance.

Good lord, that was Dumbledore! Draco knew that wizened, absent-minded timbre anywhere! He was hearing a conversation between the Dark Lord's main opposition!

"—ly two left, and I'll bet my left leg Nagini is one of them. He's suspiciously protective of that thing for a man known for his lack of warm emotions," said Potter, her tone taking Draco aback with how low and dark it was.

"I do agree, my dear," Dumbledore answered. "I suspect Hufflepuff's cup may be the other. It would follow the pattern shown."

"He is rather predictable, isn't he?" Potter scoffed. "No doubt he gave it to another Death Eater like he did with the diary. All we have to do now is to figure out which one that is."

"I believe we would do best to look within his Inner Circle. For all that Voldemort is arrogant in his command of his followers he would not trust any less member than his hand-picked favourites for such a task."

"Well, there was Malfoy the elder, so who else? I don't exactly know his minions by name."

Draco belatedly realised that the voices had grown closer. If he wanted to escape detection he had to slip away now before Potter and Dumbledore discovered him.

Were the gods finally smiling down on him? This was just the sort of information that would put his family back into the Dark Lord's good graces! Object of great importance to the Dark Lord were being investigated, and if Draco was understanding it correctly they were being hidden by high-level Death Eaters like his father. No doubt they were instrumental to the continued existence of the Dark Lord; the Light side would not be bothering with such things otherwise.

Surely _this_ would appease the Dark Lord, surely he would pleased that Draco had discovered such a plot! All Draco had to do now was owl the news home and everything would be alright again!

. . .

So why was he hesitating?

As the sound of footsteps and voices drew ever nearer, Draco thought hard on what he had to do.

Draco's hand flashed out and caught Potter's wrist as the two turned the corner. The girl jumped and pulled out her wand and Dumbledore made to step in front of her.

"Please," Draco croaked, his vision blurring with tears of exhaustion and fear. "Please. He has my parents. I haven't been able to talk to my mother in _months_. Just . . . _Please_ . . ."

It was clear by the nonplussed looks on their faces that this was not at all what they had been expecting, but Draco didn't care.

". . . Malfoy . . . ?" Potter said slowly, looking thrown and distressed.

It seemed the bleeding heart he had often mocked her for bled even for him. Her free hand came up to cup his face and wipe away his tears. It was the softest touch he had received in a long time.

"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore said very seriously, "I hope you understand exactly what you are asking right now."

"_Anything_," Draco replied, his head hanging low. "I'll d-do anything at all, just . . . just . . ."

"This is no conversation to be having in an open corridor," Potter said tersely, drawing Draco to her and nudging him to walk with them. "Shall we use your office, professor?"

And so Draco Malfoy defected from the Dark side. He may have hated Heri Potter, but Draco loved his family more.

* * *

**T**wo months into the new year, Severus Snape arrived at Malfoy Manor for a Death Eater meeting. After the meeting was adjourned, the manor was placed in total lock-down, ejecting anyone not a Malfoy by blood or marriage. When the phenomenon was investigated by outraged Death Eaters at the behest of their lord, the Malfoy couple were nowhere to be found.

* * *

**AN: **A lot of you guys were very receptive to the change in writing style, making me very happy. The multiple points of view appears to be something that was unanimously liked, something I'm glad about since it's the best way to get nuanced details in there without the MC having to discover everything by themselves, requiring slower chapters. Thanks for the encouragement, ya'll! They really perk me up, especially if I read some during moments when I'm down!

**P.S. **I hope you lot appreciated the bit of technical talk about stones and crystals during the conversation with the scrying stone. I'm certainly no jeweller or scientist and it took me more time than I'd like to admit to make it sound like anyone knew what they were talking about. As it is, please don't go digging into the actual science of crystals and stuff, because I'm pretty sure that if anyone took a closer look, my BS-ing would become very apparent.


	11. The Power the Dark Lord Can Never Wield

**AN: **While doing some frivolous research to get some inspiration, I discovered that Mr. Riordan has a series about Norse gods as well. And it's in the same universe as his Olympian and Egyptian gods. I facepalmed pretty hard at just now learning about it. I was tempted to research more deeply into The Kane Chronicles and the Magnus Chase series, but . . . God damn! Here I am taking forever just to write a HPPJO crossover; I don't think I could handle an even larger expanded story!

Obviously the other pantheons still exist within this story as well, but I don't think I'll be including characters from the canon pantheons outside of "oh, yeah, they exist, but over _there_" since that would mean me having to read those books as well to a get a proper feel for their personalities. I have enough trouble getting already-involved characters enough screen-time; I won't be adding to the line-up.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The Power The Dark Lord Can Never Wield pt. 1**

* * *

**H**eri shifted in her seat and sighed quietly, the discreet action going unnoticed in the din and activity of the hall. People were bellowing across the way at each other, gesticulating furiously, the circular table having erupted into various disputes happening all at once. In the face of the angry tangents taking place, no one noticed the agitated but innocuous motion of Heri readjusting the fingers of her gloves over her knuckles.

"_FIVE_ SETTLEMENTS ALL OVER THE ISLES HAVE BEEN HIT IN JUST THE LAST THREE MONTHS!" a man somewhere to her right roared. "ST. MUNGO'S HAS RE-EXPANDED THEIR EMERGENCY ROOM TO HAVE ENOUGH SPACE FOR ALL KILLED AND INJURED! We're on war-time curfew again and you think we still have time to hem and haw around?!"

"DON'T YOU SCREAM CASUALTY RATES AT _ME_, WINTERBOURNE!" A grizzled older warlock hollered back. "_I'M _THE ONE ACTUALLY ATTENDING TO THOSE PEOPLE WHILE COWARDS LIKE _YOU_ JUST COWER IN YOUR HOMES WITH YOUR THUMBS UP YOUR LAZY BUMS!"

Good thing Heri had sent Ollie off with the House-elves when they had arrived or else the sweet thing would no doubt be quivering in fright under Heri's chair at all the raised voices.

It was two weeks until the year-end examinations — examinations that sixth-year students like herself thankfully didn't have — but instead of preparing herself for the frenzy that was inherent to the End-of-Term schedule, Heri was knee-deep in the middle of a raucous gathering of Britain's semi-divine.

Heri's announcement to 'the Order of the Oddfish' (as Luna liked to call it) had been met with all sorts of disquiet at the time. When the word had been sent home to family, the perturbation spread until it felt like all of the United Kingdom had come to know of the depths of depravity that Voldemort had accomplished in his mad scheme to become an immortal despot. This was, of course, not the case — but it was certainly something remarkable that the collective malaise of those in the know was so great that it stretched its reach to also hang overhead of the masses who were yet left unwitting. The unease had been churning and curdling like carton of spoiled milk being shaken until someone had finally had enough and demanded a gathering so they could decide what the Hell was to be done if anything could be done at all.

And so on a Hogsmeade weekend when she should have been picking up a new roll of stationery or Floo-calling Dora about 'Big News' the older girl had hinted about in her most recent letter, Heri was instead on a "club field-trip" at Castle Sween: the ancestral home of Clan Macmillan, and the location that had been designated for the assemblage. A portkey had been arranged for the students of Hogwarts with the permission of the headmaster, and all of them save the handful who were told to stay at school by their parents were transported directly into the reception hall of Castle Sween.

The bulk of time so far had been used up by 'discussion' on the current state of affairs of the ministry and the actions being taken to combat the resurgence of Voldemort's rise to power. There were not as many people of divine descent in influential positions as Heri had originally assumed — only a handful including herself were seated in the Wizengamot — so there was quite a bit of explaining on what went on during legislative sessions and how the DMLE was being organised.

"—Shacklebolt's been working under the muggle Minister for a while now. Heard him say the other day how the Muggles have been calling that attack in West Country a hurricane. A _hurricane_ of all things! Mind you, with those Giants uprooting everything and bashing in buildings—"

"—did in Amelia Bones! Her poor niece orphaned yet again! If it wasn't bad enough that the blasted dementors turned traitor—!"

"It's 'bout time that Fudge got the boot!" a man from the Auror Office said at one point. "I thought that committee for cleanin' out corruption would never get to him an' his ilk at the rate they were goin'! Mind, I'm not too sure about Scrimgeour either 'spite his approach. I'm all for keepin' up morale, but this '_everythin'll be right as rain!_' shite hasn't actually done anyone no good, has it? Oh! Right! Just follow this easy step-by-step tutorial and thing'lls be swell!

"Have you lot read these rubbish instructions?" he continued, tossing something down on the table with disgust.

The 'rubbish instructions' in question were a purple leaflet emblazoned with the words:

— **issued on behalf of —**

**_The Ministry of Magic_**

**PROTECTING YOUR HOME AND FAMILY**

**AGAINST DARK FORCES**

The wizarding community is currently under threat from an organisation calling itself the Death Eaters. Observing the following simple security guidelines will help protect you, your family, and your home from attack.

1\. You are advised not to leave the house alone.

2\. Particular care should be taken during the hours of darkness. Wherever possible, arrange to complete journeys before night has fallen.

3\. Review the security arrangements around your house, making sure that all family members are aware of emergency measures such as Shield and Disillusionment Charms, and, in the case of under-age family members, Side-Along-Apparition.

4\. Agree on security questions with close friends and family so as to detect Death Eaters masquerading as others by use of the Polyjuice Potion (see page 2).

5\. Should you feel that a family member, colleague, friend, or neighbour is acting in a strange manner, contact the Magical Law Enforcement Squad at once. They may have been put under the Imperius Curse (see page 4).

6\. Should the Dark Mark appear over any dwelling place or other building, DO NOT ENTER, but contact the Auror Office immediately.

7\. Unconfirmed sightings suggest that the Death Eaters may now be using Inferi (see page 10). Any sighting of an Inferius, or encounter with same, should be reported to the Ministry IMMEDIATELY.

—

It went without saying that dissatisfaction was heavy amongst those who had no true say in how the Ministry of Magic was opposing the Dark Lord.

"Muggles are getting suspicious," groused a fierce-looking Welsh woman sitting to Heri right. "My brother-in-law works as an Obliviator, and he's been complaining about the extra work going around now to make sure every single Muggle that's seen anything gets the wipe. Says he once caught the end-tail of a broadcast they get on one of those picture-box things and their witch-burning churches were carrying on about 'signs of the apocalypse'!"

Dissatisfaction was surpassed when it came time to rehash exactly _how _Voldemort was still within the land of the living. '_Upset_' was an understatement when Heri explained all she knew of Voldemort's abominable actions and the scope of what he had done just to continue existing, never mind the devastation he was now wreaking across the United Kingdom. Being wizards as well as of divine descent, they knew intrinsically of the existence of the soul — they _knew_ while religious followers merely believed — and for someone to so remorselessly mangle their own in an attempt to achieve a perverted form of unending life actually made those with weaker stomachs vomit.

To mutilate your own soul . . . and in the way Voldemort did . . . it was as depraved as someone manually rending open their own chest cavity, snapping off a rib to spear someone through the skull with it, and then strangling a sleeping child to force them to consume a pulpy chunk of your own still beating heart.

Some of those present had ties to the Death Eaters, either close relatives or 'friends' that were being swayed. Any tentative attachments they still had to those relations were now regarded with all the horror one would have had at the suggestion of cannibalising an infant sibling.

Heri didn't have it in her to tell them that _she _was also one of those abhorrent artefacts. Just the knowledge made her skin crawl and her stomach churn, made her yearn for death if only so she would finally be separated from the _disgusting_ contamination fouling her physical body. To actually voice such a revolting thing . . . no. No, to actually say it aloud herself was beyond her.

She would do her duty, but she wasn't obliged to reveal the foulest details of it.

At the moment, they were in the midst of screaming match over . . . Heri didn't even know what. Vigilante justice maybe? Something about asking for help from other countries? Heri could barely recall the words that had been spoken only a few seconds before, forget about who or what had actually instigated the topic.

Heri was feeling wretched beyond words at the moment, yearning desperately for a Headache Relief and the comfort of her bed. Hell, a serviceable patch of grass would be fine enough as well. This meeting couldn't have been called at a less opportune time unless she had broken both of her arms and had a wendigo gnawing on her rear. Oh, sure, she had been given a week's notice, but that didn't change the fact that she had ran herself ragged the day before with her usual duties and then fretted well into the night with the headmaster about how they would extract Hufflepuff's Cup from the Lestrange vault at Gringott's.

Since learning from Auntie Narcissa that Bellatrix had been tasked by Voldemort to secure an object at the same time that Malfoy Senior had years ago, Dumbledore had been certain that the Lestrange vault was the location of the last of the Founder's relics. Ever since, they had been plotting. It just so happened that their plotting had gone on longer than usual when Heri suggested using her phantom form to phase through the walls of the bank. _That _had prompted a call for a demonstration and then experimentation on what her limits were.

She had gone to bed bone tired that night but she hardly got a wink of sleep because her mind refused to stop scheming about her eventual bank robbery.

And if that wasn't enough, she had caught Felis Nigrum, a magical strain of influenza*. How she managed to do so when it was almost summer and literally no one else around her was sick was a mystery. Madam Pomfrey had ascertained what it was just that morning though she was not at all pleased to discover that Heri had actually been ailing from it for nearly a week and half already before she had been sick enough that even _she _thought she needed to see the nurse.

Give her break! How was she supposed to have known it was anything other that her usual Not Good? She had been Not Good for nearly two years now!

Heri was currently a shivering, sniffling horror. Her head was visibly swimming from how dizzy she was despite the fact that she was currently sitting down. Her eyes were glassy and off-focus, streaming with tears that resulted from how sensitive her vision now was and the absurd amount of hideous aching she had all over her body. Under the cover of her scarf, her nose was a glowing red from constant abuse from tissue wiping, and her lips were a dried, cracked, and bleeding mess that no amount of water consumption could stave off. She felt as if she were about to die at any second.

As it was, she felt as feeble as her usual appearance made people think, and she now appeared twice as pathetically weak than she usually did. Heri didn't want to imagine how disillusioned the others currently present must have been feeling by seeing her this way. She would have signed over half of her trust fund for a Pepper-Up Potion if only so she could be somewhat presentable, but the Fire Seeds and liquorice in the potion would react badly with the St. John's Wort and Maidenhair in her narcolepsy medication.

In the mean time, Heri had to make due with a bottle of aromatic smelling salts that Madam Pomfrey had prepared for her. She was to inhale it whenever she felt dizzy, nauseated, or faint. She thought it made her look like some wimpy Victorian-era maiden — especially paired with the mooncalf gloves she wore — but she couldn't deny it was effective. (Moly was a Hell of an herb.) It wasn't curing her or anything, but it did relieve her congestion and kept her alert. She was actually thinking of making the prissy little tube a permanent part of her daily carry-on since it worked remarkably well in keeping her awake and focused whenever she took whiff, perfect for staving off a sleep attack.

A screeched slur pierced Heri's sensitive ears with all the tenderness of metal pike through the prefrontal cortex. She couldn't hold back her wince nor the following glower at the woman at the other side of the table who was on her feet and pointing at a man standing across from her, also gesturing aggressively. When the woman actually made to leap across the table and strangle the man—

"AAAGH! What _is_ this?!"

— Two tenacula shot across the room in a blink and caught the two opponents, lifting them up and suspending them in the air so that they could only kick impotently.

"_That's quite enough of that_," Heri growled out, the scratchiness of her voice adding savagery to her tone.

Silence filled the hall as Heri was bent nearly in half from the force of her hacking coughing, her two captives being flung about in the air from the motion.

"Now," she rasped, voice now breathy and lacking the afore grittiness. "Anyone who tries physical assault again _will _be flung from the hall. The same goes for anyone else who thinks it's a good idea to blow out everyone else's ears with any more inane shouting."

The vehemence of her glare might have been dampened — literally and metaphorically — by the flow of tears trickling down her cheeks. She wiped the tears away with exasperation only to have them replaced soon after.

Where was Namtar when she needed him?! The one time she would be sincerely thankful he was a gregarious stalker and instead he had disappeared back to wherever he'd come from!

"Ms Bainbridge, Mr Mordaunt," she continued when no one spoke, addressing the two people still squirming in her grasps. "May I assume you are willing to oblige?"

At their wary nods, she slowly and gently lowered them to the floor.

"Thank you very much," she murmured perfunctorily, assuming Position No. 27, the one she used as a prefect to address unruly upperclassmen: hands folded in front of her, spine perfectly straight, shoulders back but relaxed. "I apologise for intruding into your conversation in such a way, but this hall amplifies sound quite a bit, so any voice raised with . . . enthusiasm . . . well, I'm not very well at the moment, so the increase in volume does me no favours."

"What magic is this?" breathed Ernie's father, Lord Macmillan. He leaned forward in his seat and peered at her with fascinated eyes, his expression mirrored in many other faces.

"Again I apologise," Heri continued on, retaking her seat, forcing her mouth to enunciate properly despite how slack it felt. She took a quick sniff of her smelling salts. "I'm unaware of the protocol for using god-given powers in polite company, so I hope you will all forgive me for taking advantage of a benefit of being my father's daughter."

"You found out who claimed then, Heri?" chirped Nigel Wolpert, a third-year legacy of Apollo and one of the lads that flocked with the Creevey brothers. He looked at her with excitement. "Which god is it?"

Heri blinked slowly for a moment at the change in topic, her brain not quite able to process what had just been asked. '_Who claimed her_'? Had Nigel not been at the Second Task where everyone else had seen the—?

Wait. Heri frowned in confusion, the disjointed flickering of her train of thought making her head feel even heavier. Had that even been Nergal's symbol? For all Heri knew, it could have been her mother's sign. Had they ever actually decided what the symbol had been to begin with?

"Nergal symbol isn't a war hammer, is it?" she said after a moment, voice thick and a little slurred, the question directed more to herself than anyone else.

Silence even more profound than before filled the hall.

"_The Devourer of the flesh of Man_?" a matronly older woman eventually wheezed, her hand pressed to her chest. "W-what?! _How_?"

Chatter suddenly broke out again, now all directed at Heri. She could only sit helplessly as wave after wave of rushed words washed over her, befuddling her even more as she fought to keep track of who was saying what.

"—said she was Greek—!"

"—never had a child—"

"That doesn't even—!"

"NERGAL?! Merciful Mer—!"

"—can't be true!"

"Back off already!" she heard Zacharias bark from her left.

Lifting her bleary eyes to her left, she saw her friend standing at his seat and leaning aggressively on the table. There was a fearsome scowl on his face that didn't waver even when offended glowers were sent his way.

"She's doing poorly enough without you lot clawing at her!" he continued hotly. "Have some respect for the ill!"

"And who are you to tell us what to do, runt?" sneered an older boy who looked a bit like Marcus.

"Zacharias Smith," Zacharias replied haughtily. "Son of Pheme, and I've known Heri since we were first-years. When I say you back off of her, you back the Hell off!"

"_Oo__ooh_!" the older boy taunted. "A child of attention-whores! I'm _sooo _scared!"

Lord Macmillan glowered fiercely.

"Mind you language in presence of children and ladies, Pummell! I won't have it in my house!"

"And I won't have snotty little sods up on their high horses when people who actually know what they're doing are trying to get things done!" Pummell snarled back.

"_Wow_ . . ." drawled Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw boy in Heri's year and a legacy of Hypnos. He lifted his head from where he had been half-napping on the table and sleepily gave Pummell an exaggerated impressed look. "I didn't know only a handful of years beyond the age of majority and an apprenticeship with a metal-worker made someone an '_adult who actually knows what they're doing_'."

Pummell looked primed to take a swing at Corner, but any action he might have taken was prevented by another tenaculum flying out and swaying like an agitated cobra defensively in front of the younger boy. Pummell tensed like cornered prey.

"I appreciate your frustrations, Mr Pummell," Heri croaked mildly, not acknowledging the way the tenaculum sprouted a scorpion-like pincer and snapped at the air, "but I think we're letting our tempers distract us from what we're trying to accomplish here."

Pummell grudgingly retook his seat, his eyes still glued on the serpentine appendage bobbing in the air.

"I will accept a few questions if it would please you," Heri said to the gathering at large, sniffling into her scarf. "But I hope you will be so good as to humour me for my little cold and go one at a time if it's not too much trouble."

She shook her head a bit in an attempt to wake herself up more. The room spun dangerously and tipped on its side. _Whooaaa_ . . . bad idea.

Heri uncapped her inhalant again, tugged down her scarf so that her nose was free, and breathed deeply for several seconds. The room returned to a stable state.

Heri then spent the next few minutes — well, she _said _'few' to word it civilly, but it actually wasn't 'few' by any definition of the word — answering questions from appropriate to invasive. Everyone and their grandmothers wanted to know the nitty-gritty of being the first known Anunnaki demigod since the fourth dynasty of Ancient Egypt, before the Great Pyramids were built. The inundation of inquiry became a veritable deluge when she thoughtlessly let it slip that she was twice-blessed as well.

"A twice-blessed demigoddess," breathed Nathaniel Carmichael, Eddie Carmichael's father. He had stars in his eyes and reverence written all over his face. "The British Isles haven't seen one since the Olympians migrated to the Americas nearly a century and a half ago . . ."

"Not a proper one since longer than that!" someone else exclaimed. "The last one to actually have two parents was back when the Statute of Secrecy had just been enforced!"

Heri couldn't say she understood the fascination — she was the equivalent of a four-leaf clover in a patch of three-leafs: rare, but not any different in a way that was really mattered. Alright, so, yeah, Nergal was an elder Being that originated from a far-off universe who was more eldritch abomination than worshipable god (and apparently also the basis of Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos, but she wasn't telling anyone _that_), and her Olympian mother was likely someone of unusual significance if Namtar's respect of her was anything to go by . . . but that didn't translate to _Heri _being any different than the standard demigod. Right? There was only so much that a mortal creature was capable of, and Heri was as mortal as anyone else. Sure, she could do certain things other humans couldn't — the same thing could said for various magical creatures; semi-sentient appendages, intangibility, superhuman strength, and whatever else were nothing too extraordinary when it came to non-human Beings.

The others present seemed to disagree with Heri's opinion though. Indeed they were so impassioned in their insistence that her circumstances were far from inconsequential that it actually made Heri wonder if it was actually _her _that was being unreasonable. She wasn't as educated about the goings-on of demigod culture as well as someone who had been steeped in the workings of it from infancy, but she had thought she had a reasonable grasp on it for the most part. She was now starting to see that what she had thought she understood was only just the tip of the iceberg.

Heri actually witnessed awe blooming on Zacharias' face as she came clean about what she had discovered of her heritage. _Zacharias_ — her self-important friend who was notorious for his lack of any esteem for other people, who always counted himself as amongst the most important people in the room if not _the _most important person.

'_You're a demigod like the rest of us here_,' he had told her back in fourth year, shrugging and looking dismissive as always. '_Just thought you should know._'

In all the years she had known him, he had never _once_ given a tinker's damn about how Heri stood out outside of how it benefited his own standing.

_Zacharias Smith_ was now in awe of her.

She took another hit of her smelling salts to prevent herself from fainting dead away in shock.

Eventually, the questioning slowed down enough that Heri could reintroduce a different — and arguably more important — topic: soliciting assistance from other countries.

Contrary to what Heri had originally assumed when she heard someone bringing up the option of foreign aid, it did _not _mean inciting the Ministry into contacting foreign governments for military backup. _That_ option actually wasn't viable at the moment since the only way to do so would involve Magical Britain formally declaring war against Voldemort's terrorist group, and to do _that _required the full ratification of the Wizengamot — something currently impossible since there were Death Eater sympathisers on the Wizengamot. No, 'help from other countries' in this context actually meant reaching out to the demigods in Europe and Asia and convincing them to fight with those in Britain.

"I don't understand," Heri said after sitting through a bout of back and forth over who they could contact and how to convince them. "Why don't we just ask the gods for help? They're good with answering the prayers of their children, right? They did it all the time in the history books!"

"If only it was that simple," Mr Carmichael replied ruefully. "While they are known to intervene occasionally nowadays, we aren't Muggles, so I'm afraid divine intervention is off the table in this instance. Unfortunately for us, You-Know-Who has at least two legacies that we know of for followers."

"What does being a Muggle or otherwise have to do with anything?" asked Heri, looking put-out.

"Well," answered Mr Carmichael, looking quite like a professor, "I trust you already know that wizards and Muggles do not interact with the gods in the same way. While wizards and wizarding demigods are free to know of the existence of all the pantheons and give loyalty to whomever they want, Muggles are to remain ignorant and the demigods born from Muggles are only allowed to know about and interact with those their native gods allow. Muggle Greeks and Romans have been forbidden to know of each other's existence since the fall of Grindelwald. Conversely, muggle demigods are free to call for divine aid in battle whenever they want to, but wizarding demigods can do no such thing when their opponent is another demigod."

"_What?_" Heri gaped. "_Why?_"

"It's because wizards intermingle in all the pantheons," Mr Carmichael explained. "We have since before written history. When it eventually came time for the gods to remove the knowledge of the truth of their existence from the Muggles, it was the wizards who helped the gods of magic to weave the Mist — the spell that has been hiding the reality of the divine from those not meant to know. As reward, wizards were given the right to choose which gods we follow if any at all, no matter what pantheon our families are already aligned with.

"The problem with that though is the conflict of interest when it comes to godly intervention. A god meddling with or possibly harming a demigod within their own pantheon is easily forgiveable by their kin, but to do the same with one from another pantheon is inexcusable — it's viewed as encroaching on another pantheon's domain, a point of contention for millennia now. And with a wizarding demigod it's almost always assured to happen. In a legacy's family tree there will often be at least two or three gods, and rarely are they all in the same pantheon.

"It was eventually decided best for everyone involved for all gods to agree to never interfere in confrontation between wizarding demigods, thus never running the risk of incurring the offence of another deity. To do so now would be to breach the treaty and would start a war amongst the gods."

Heri wanted nothing more than to bang her head against the table out of sheer frustration.

"But how can there not be an exception in this case?" she argued. "Vol— _He_ is trying to murder his way into taking over all of the United Kingdom — and the rest of the world afterwards I would reckon! His followers bloody-well worship him as if he was a god, the ones who are legacies too no doubt! It's not like we're having friendly duels over here! And it's not like they're restraining themselves to only harming wizards!"

"They are not inciting divine intervention," said a portly gentleman sitting across from her. "We are free to wage wars against each other and use our blessings so long as we don't drag the gods into it. There's no basis for the gods to punish them."

"Wouldn't the sheer cheek of choosing a false-god over their comrades and progenitors be incentive enough to wipe them from the face of Earth?"

"That's a fine argument," the man continued, "but you're forgetting the part where wizards are free to choose whoever we want to worship, false-god or not, against our people or not. It doesn't matter that You-Know-Who isn't a god right now because he could eventually become one given enough followers who actually prayed to him. It's through the power of our veneration that the gods were sustained despite losing their muggle worshippers, a magical apostle being worth hundreds of non-magical ones. It's actually how the Celtic gods were formed— the Tuatha Dé Danann. They weren't divine originally but they eventually ascended because the devotion they received from their Druidic followers."

"And we're just okay with that?!" Heri demanded, wide-eyed and alarmed. A Dark Lord turned into an actual god! _Voldemort _turning into an actual god! The thought made her want to vomit! If he became a god, no amount of horcrux destroying would kill him!

"While it's a possibility, it's not actually likely," Mr Carmichael said, jumping back in. "What Smethwyck hasn't said is that You-Know-Who's following is actually rather small — unsurprising really since not many wizards are willing to kill and torture in cold blood, even amongst the blood supremacists. O-of course I don't mean a small group of mad-men — any group of _those _no matter how little the number is already too many — but if we were to think of them as a cult of worshippers, there wouldn't be enough of them to even trigger the first state of transition.

"Of course, we're only speaking as if his followers gave him worship at all. From what I've seen, the only one of the Death Eaters to be properly reverent is Bellatrix Lestrange — the others follow him to further their own twisted agenda, not something that will carry a person into godhood. The only way You-Know-Who could ascend in any degree would be for hundreds of wizards to sincerely give veneration to him, something he prevents himself by . . . well, by himself. People aren't wont to worship their tyrants no matter how terrified they are of them."

"Alright, so it's highly improbable," Heri agreed reluctantly, still highly bothered. "But the gods would be okay with it happening on the off-chance that it did? Wouldn't they want to stomp out the competition?"

"That would be going against the right they gave us to worship freely," said Mr Carmichael with a sigh. "Unless he were to actively challenge them, the gods would have no reason to involve themselves."

So their only hope of backup were demigods from other countries . . .

After a few moments of thought, Heri spoke again.

"The Order of the Phoenix has been contacting foreign allies and sending out emissaries to court the help of Beings who might be amendable to fighting against the Dark Lord," she said. "Could we not also ask magical creatures who have allied themselves with the gods to help us?"

This suggestion led to a rather involved round of which Beings would be helpful, which could feasibly be convinced, and how those Beings could be contacted.

Apparently, most magical Beings aligned with the gods tended to flock where their chosen pantheons made their homes. While many pantheons like the Kami of Shintoism and the Armenian Ditsov stayed where they were originally worshipped, there were also those like the Olympians and the Egyptians who migrated because of how they were tied to civilisation. Because of this, the bulk of magical Beings that they'd want to curry favour with were currently settled in North America, specifically the United States.

Now, reaching out to those in the States wouldn't have been too much trouble if it wasn't for the fact that American magical Beings didn't ally themselves with the wizarding nation there like those in Europe did. Instead, they disguised themselves with illusions and intermingled with the Muggles, the ones aligned with the gods included. _That _too wouldn't have been too difficult to work around if it wasn't for the fact that the MACUSA had it so that their citizens were all but completely segregated from the Muggles, essentially cutting off all contact between the wizards and magical Beings as well. While it wasn't _illegal _for outside wizards to interact with American Muggles and the magical Beings living amongst them, that didn't mean they'd be getting the grin of approval from the MACUSA by any means.

Not that the demigods of Britain actually had any means of getting in touch with the magical Beings in question anyway.

"This is getting us nowhere!" cried Phoebus Penrose, a gentleman from the House of Commons who sat in the Wizengamot.

It was now nearly eight in the evening, almost eleven hours since the students of Hogwarts had been portkey'd in. She could see on various dull-eyed faces that quite of a few of the other students were regretting coming along. Despite how important it was for all of them to be aware of what was going on, sitting for hours on end while having little to contribute to the conversation was no one's ideal way of spending a Saturday.

"I move that we adjourn here," Mr Penrose continued, looking around, no doubt seeing the same thing Heri did. "The children are exhausted and there's nothing else we can accomplish this night."

"I move to amend that motion," said a middle-aged witch sitting near Ernie's father. "We should adjourn now but meet again the same time next month. We should have some word back from the Continent by then."

"Do you accept this amendment, Mr Penrose?" asked Lord Macmillan, the acting chairman for their assembly.

"I do."

"All in favour for the amended motion?"

The ayes were a clear majority.

One could almost hear a collective sigh of relief when the meeting was declared done.

As the students of Hogwarts were being gathered together to be ushered back into the main entrance, Heri didn't miss the deferential nods being sent her way by the departing adults, murmur of respectful well-wishes as she moved through the crowd to meet up with her classmates.

"It was an honour to meet you, my lady," whispered a viking of a man she paused to greet as he caught her hand in a warm handshake.

"An honour, Miss Potter —!"

"—family owe our lives to you—"

"—never thought I'd ever have the chance—"

On every one of their faces was naked wonderment.

Heri had never liked receiving that look, never enjoyed the back-bowing sense of responsibility that came with it. If there was one thing she had learned from living with the Dursleys it was that if no one thought anything of you, whether you failed or succeeded at anything didn't matter. That was not to say that she wanted to be insignificant like she was before, but being expected to do great things by everyone who knew her name was a lofty and vague standard she exhausted herself everyday to reach.

And that was just from being the Girl-Who-Lived. 'Prodigy Potter'; 'St. Potter, the Hufflepuff'; 'Tri-Wizard Champion'; and now she had to be 'the Twice-Blessed Demigod' as well? Was it not enough that it seemed every wizard in the world was expecting miracles from her?

Heri was not God! She was not all-powerful! It was only a matter of time before she — before . . .

The only thing Heri knew for certain that she could do was die for them. Even then she wasn't sure if it would be enough.

The return to the school happened with no further fanfare. The students dispersed upon arrival, trickling off to their usual evening activities. While lingering looks towards Heri abounded, none of them made any mention of what was discussed at Castle Sween as they wandered off.

With Zacharias and Ernie on either side, Heri returned to the dorms as exhausted as ever.

* * *

**T**he morning the Hogwarts Express was meant to leave for London, a regiment of Aurors flooded into Hogsmeade and assumed control of the station, forbidding anyone from boarding the train, conductor or student. Students were then bundled back into the school when the faculty was informed that King's Cross Station was under attack, casualties both muggle and magical still unaccounted for. Only the next day was it declared safe for students to return home — but instead of the train, they were Floo'd out from the fireplaces in the common rooms, the muggleborns being escorted to their homes by the Heads of Houses.

While fatalities on the magical side were lower than usual because of the DMLE-alerting system that the Ministry had implemented when Scrimgeour entered office, muggle casualties numbered in the hundreds. The muggle media declared it an armed attacked and bombing caused by the IRA.

A week and a half into the summer holidays, Heri and Sirius travelled to Gringotts — officially because Sirius was going to abdicate his position of Head of House Black and bequeath it to Heri as an early birthday gift, but in truth it was because this was the day Heri was to retrieve Hufflepuff's Cup.

On any other occasion, Remus would have gone with them — Sirius wasn't very politic when in came to talking to Goblins — but Remus was abstaining that day to instead go inform the Tonkses that he had married their daughter.

"I didn't even know you two were together!" Heri had cried as she clung to Dora in a congratulatory hug, her mood elevated from the funk she'd been in since she had arrived home. "Why am I just now hearing about this?!"

"Why am _I _just now hearing about this?" Sirius had rejoined, goggling at his best friend.

"Well, it was — it was a bit of a last-moment thing . . ." Remus had confessed, looking embarrassed but happy. "I hadn't intended to pop the question quite so soon, but with the baby coming—"

"BABY!" Heri and Sirius had shrieked in unison, Heri in glee and Sirius in stupefaction, as if he had never hear of such a thing before.

"I'm nearly a month along!" Dora had said, grinning and rubbing her belly fondly.

Sirius hadn't been able articulate anything else after that, so Heri had simply bid their farewells and coaxed him into the Floo.

And so it was only the two of them in Diagon that day, Ollie being left at home with Oona because of risky nature of their mission.

They were dressed deceptively light in summer-wear and metaphorically armed to the teeth in case of attack. Or maybe not so metaphorically — Sirius had a dental cap on his back molar that Heri had bullied him into wearing which allowed him to breath fire and Heri was sporting a lip cuff that had a silver bead enchanted with a Notice-Me-Not Charm. It was unlikely any skirmish would happen — Voldemort had not yet dared attack so close to the Ministry of Magic headquarters — but Heri had not survived the last six years of her life by being anything less than prepared for the worst. In any case, a Notice-Me-Not would buff her stealth for her current mission.

"O Autolycus, Son of Hermes and god of thieves," Heri murmured under her breath as they climbed the steps of Gringotts, "may I succeed in my appropriation without recourse."

The walk through the entry arch and then the marble doors, both flanked by goblin guards, was met with careful nonchalance.

"Do you need to grab anything from your vault?" Sirius asked idly for the tellers to hear as they passed on their way to the cart entrance to the section of the bank their vaults were in. By drawing the goblins' attention now for such an innocuous thing, they wouldn't know that Heri was under a Notice-Me-Not, thus ensuring that no banker was suspicious of her.

"Nothing," Heri replied, casually scanning over the crowd of people coming and going. With the Notice-Me-Not, none of them realised she was present even with Sirius being fully visible. She had not known such anonymity in a long time. "I'd love to take a better look at that carving set in the Black vault though."

The goblin that met them at the cart rails wasn't one that Heri recognised despite her previous visits over the years. That was not to say that Heri knew every goblin in Gringotts, but she had been observant enough to realise that this rail was manned by only a handful of goblins at a time and that the ones who were usually stationed here at this time of day were Griphook, Ragnok, and Alguff — the goblin in front of her being none of them.

"Hello, sir . . ." Heri said carefully, unsure if this sudden but possibly trivial deviation in the planning was anything more than a coincidence. "I don't believe we've met before."

The goblin blinked somehow puppy-ish black eyes at her from behind silver spectacles. Heri wasn't sure if it was because of his advanced age but he was actually rather warm-looking and sweet-faced, rather like a kindly grandfather.

"Bogrod, Miss," the goblin said, bowing respectfully. "Ragnok was transferred to another branch."

"I see. Umm . . ."

Heri deferred to Sirius.

"Vault 413 if you would, Master Bogrod," Sirius said, opening the gate for Heri to step through.

On the way, Sirius made 'idle' conversation with Heri about the mines and the locations of family vaults that he knew of. Auntie Narcissa had pounded the information concerning the Lestrange vault into Sirius' brain when she heard of what they were planning to do.

"You wouldn't believe the boasting of that hag Bellatrix back when she just engaged!" Sirius mockingly said at one point, his face twisting in exaggerated distaste. He jerked his chin toward a turn in the tunnels as they passed it. "She couldn't shut up about the Lestrange vault after her beast of a future-husband took her down to show it off.

" '_Oh, and the security measures!' _" Sirius simpered in a screechy falsetto. " '_Nothing but the best! They have a live dragon keeping guard!' _Narcissa was jealous for weeks! She got her own back though, she rubbed it in Bellatrix's face that Malfoy had Lestrange beat when it came to riches — strutted around a Yule celebration with enough gold on her to feed a village for a month!"

Heri tittered and commented at the right moments, but her attention was focused on mentally mapping the chunks of mine they passed through so that she could find her way back efficiently.

As before when entering a vault, their goblin escort remained outside after unlocking the doorway for them. Bogrod in particular returned to the cart to wait for them as opposed to how others before him stood the door. While Heri would have easily been able to slip behind a pillar to conceal her next moves, it was a boon that she didn't have to be as concerned for stealth off the bat as she had originally thought.

"D'you want to switch rings now or after we rummage through this rubbish?" asked Sirius lazily as he strolled through the hall-like room.

"Mmm . . . now I suppose," Heri replied, looking over a shelf of knick-knacks. "Might as well."

Without fanfare, Sirius removed the ring in question from his finger and tossed it into Heri's waiting hands. She lobbed the heir ring back at him in response.

Sirius eyed her carefully as he went to put the heir ring back on the pedestal it originally came from.

"You want to take a seat over here before you try it on?" he asked, waving at an ostentatious sitting room set over by where he was standing. "That'll sting like a bitch to put it lightly."

Heri rolled her eyes but complied, going over and plopping down in a high-backed armchair.

"I _have_ put on one of these bloody things before, you know. I've done it three times already actually!"

"Right," Sirius nodded agreeably. "But the Black Headship ring is a real son of a bitch."

Heri snorted at his casual use of expletive.

"This is exactly why Professor Snape makes such a sour face when I talk about you," she muttered, sliding the ring onto her right middle finger.

Any retort Sirius might have made was blocked out by the familiar sensation of Family Magic judging her. Wind; needles in her pores; lava in her veins; a pickaxe to the brain: all like before. And just like Sirius had said, it was even _worse_ than what she had previously experienced. Like, to the fourth power worse.

And as before, the torture disappeared as suddenly as it came.

Heri groaned miserably from where she was slumped over the arm of her chair, tears veritably flooding from her eyes. As she shifted to sit up a bit — muscles cramping and joints aching — she tasted bitter copper; she had bitten the side of her tongue.

"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked sympathetically, kneeling beside her and healing the wound in her mouth.

"Ten out of ten agony," she wheezed after her tongue was fixed. "Would suffer through again if a raving masochist."

"Are you going to be alright continuing?" Sirius murmur under his breath, glancing covertly at the door. He had been unenthusiastic about including Heri in the break-in when Dumbledore introduced the idea to him, but there was no arguing against the fact that being able to travel through walls was an act no one else they knew of could recreate.

The sitting room set they were using was partially concealed by a queue of cabinets lining the back of the sofa to the wall. If that was not enough cover, the armchair Heri was sitting in was tall enough to block the sight of her even if she was standing.

"It'll be fine," Heri replied just as quietly after a moment as she observed the signet ring now sitting innocuously on her right middle finger, next to Resurrection Stone on her ring finger. Add on the Potter ring on her left middle and she was only a zebra-print fur-coat away from being a pimp.

She shook her head sharply to shake off her wandering thoughts and dug into her pocket for her smelling salts. After three slow inhales she ignored her aching limbs and straightened up fully, beginning to rummage through her other pocket.

In a louder voice, she said, "Have you seen that carving set then? I don't really fancy wading through all this and accidentally getting myself cursed."

Sirius took this as cue to launch into a jovial monologue about his experiences with cursed Black artefacts and half-heartedly pick through the piles of curios. Heri took the opportunity to extract Iolanthe from her hiding place.

During their planning of the heist, one of the biggest challenges they came up against was how to make certain the goblin escort didn't notice Heri's absence from the Black vault. Even with Sirius' chatter to fill the air, it would be suspicious if Heri was never heard saying a word in response. The idea of a pre-recording was shot down because it couldn't make up for her never being seen moving about, something they also couldn't risk. Eventually, they came upon the idea of using Iolanthe as a body-double.

Getting up from her seat, careful to remain concealed, Heri sat the awaking doll in the seat she had vacated and pulled her wand on the simulacrum. With a silent spell, Iolanthe grew and expanded until she achieved the exact dimensions that Heri had.

Iolanthe blinked owlishly, taking in her sudden change in point of view. Though Heri had practised this spell on the doll before, Iolanthe was still in awe every time at how different everything looked when she was no longer a foot in height.

Sitting in the chair, Iolanthe was a perfect copy of Heri in every way, from the gradient of her hair to the outfit she wore. Because of the experimentation done on her over the years, Iolanthe easily passed as human — Heri had long since achieved a flesh-like texture for Iolanthe's limbs, cold porcelain and obvious jointing being replaced with seamless 'skin'. All that was missing from the disguise to assure no suspicion would fall on her were the three rings still on Heri's fingers.

Heri readily slipped off the Potter and Black signet rings and handed them over to Iolanthe who took them without question. The only thing holding her back from removing the Resurrection Stone from her finger as well was the fact that the last time she had done so she was fairly certain she had nearly died. Oh, well — no one but Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, and Remus knew about the Resurrection Stone, so it wasn't like Bogrod would find it fishy not seeing it on Iolanthe's finger should Heri not return in the forty-five-minute time-frame and Sirius and Iolanthe were forced to leave to avert suspicion.

"You know what to do," Heri murmured to Iolanthe, allowing herself to fade into the grey guise of a ghost. "Follow Sirius' lead."

Iolanthe grinned mischievously before shifting her posture _just so_ and affecting Heri's usual mannerisms. Standing up, a wry up-turn of the lips appeared on Iolanthe's face. One hand went to rest on her hip, the other threaded fingers into the fabric of her skirt, as if she were about to hike up the garment and break out into run: a pose Heri often assumed.

Instinctively, Heri affected the same posture. Face to face, they were mirror images.

"Good luck," Heri mouthed, and then disintegrated into a wisp of mist.

Without waiting to see how their façade was carried on, Heri surged down through the floor, travelling through stone as if it was merely water. Like a flesh-eating merrow circling its prey under a sheet of ice, she drifted under Bogrod's unsuspecting feet and re-emerged far out of his line of sight. Retracing her mental map of their journey to that section of the mines, she then followed the tracts back to the intersection in the tunnels Sirius had pointed out.

Thankfully, it didn't take as long to get there as Heri had originally thought. The tracts into the more secure section were winding and labyrinthine, but she made excellent time in her mist form. On the way she passed dozens upon dozens of other vaults, all with curious security measures of their own: Wardstone embedded doors; magnificent locking mechanisms; stone guardians crouched in wait; et cetera. It was honestly quite amazing to behold.

At last, Heri turned a corner and saw the thing for which she had been prepared, but which still brought all her to a screeching halt despite her in-corporeality.

A gigantic dragon — a Ukrainian Ironbelly if she wasn't mistaken — was tethered to the ground in front of her, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults in the Gringotts. The beast's scales had turned pale and flaky during its long incarceration under the ground, its eyes were milkily pink; both rear legs bore heavy cuffs from which chains led to enormous pegs driven deep into the rocky floor. Its great spiked wings, folded close to its body, would have filled the chamber if it spread them. Heri could see it trembling slightly, likely from the chill of the caves, and as she drew nearer she saw multiple vicious scars slashed across its face.

"_By the gods . . ._" Heri breathed, horrified by the state of the creature. In her mist form her soft exclamation seemed to come from every direction, making the dragon's head twitch about.

In her aghast state, Heri returned to semi-corporeality, catching the Ironbelly's attention. As it turned its great head toward her, it roared with a magnitude that made the rock tremble and spat a jet of fire that sent her shooting up into the ceiling to avoid. The dragon let out another hoarse roar, then retreated.

Heri remained in the cave ceiling, frozen in fright that she had inadvertently brought attention to the fact that a burglary was in progress. Only after a solid minute wherein there was no hint of outside activity did she peek out into the cavern. She strained her ears and felt for vibrations in the stone, but it seemed no one was coming.

Mentally sighing in relief, Heri dove back into the stone and traced down the walls of the cavern. She peeked out momentarily again to check if she was at the right location, confirming the door she was floating in was indeed the one to the Lestrange vault. She hesitated only a moment to eye the battered dragon slumped across the floor and then drifted through to the other side.

Once inside, Heri condensed back into full corporeality.

The Lestrange vault was nowhere near as polished or organised as the Potter or Black ones. From where Heri stood at the entrance, it was merely a cave-like opening crammed from floor to admittedly high ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armour, the skins of strange creatures – some with long spines, other with drooping wings – potions in tacky bejewelled flasks, and a skull still wearing a crown.

Heri wrinkled her nose at the cluttered and gaudy mess. With a quick flutter of her wand, she cast a globe of light up into the air so that she could better see around. She then went about examining the piles of objects surrounding her.

Beams of witchlight illuminated things she had missed farther in the back; glittering jewels of exorbitant sizes and a sword that looked remarkably like the Sword of Gryffindor lying on a high shelf amongst a jumble of chains. If she hadn't known very well that the true sword was being kept in the Sorting Hat when Dumbledore wasn't using it to destroy horcruces, she would have been fooled. A copy? But why would the Lestranges even want such a thing?

A jewelled goblet on a shelf caught her eye. Eagerly, she cast her eyes about the room for something she could use as a step-ladder. She found an ornate fiddleback chair in a corner and dragged it over. Climbing up, she could _just_ reach it on her tip-toes with her arm fully extended.

Could _this_ be —?

"_Aargh!_"

Heri screamed in pain and the goblet tumbled from her grip. As it fell, it split, becoming a torrential downpour of goblets. Within seconds, with extraordinary clamour, the floor was covered in identical cups rolling in every direction, the original impossible to discern amongst them.

Heri dropped heavily into the chair, nursing her blistering fingers. The damned thing had burned her! Oh, why hadn't she realised it would have been cursed? Of course it would be!

It must be Doubling and Flagrante Spells, Heri thought to herself, sucking on her fingers to ease the pain. That meant touching the goblet and its now many copies would cause them to burn and multiply — and she would eventually be crushed to death by the weight of expanding gold!

"Alright then," Heri murmured to herself, getting out from the chair. "No touching it is."

But even as she said it, she accidentally nudged one of the fallen goblets with her foot, and twenty more exploded into being while she hopped on the spot, part of her shoe burning away from the contact with the hot metal. Cursing violently, Heri went semi-corporeal and flew up into the air, the only way left to avoid touching the cursed chalices.

She directed her wand at the bubbling pile of goblets, twirling cautiously in the air. Were she to land, it would have been impossible not to brush up against anything; she had accidentally sent a great cascade of Galleons onto the ground when she was hopping about, and now they joined the goblets, the glowing gold blazed with heat. The vault felt like a furnace. The heat from the enchanted treasure rose in waves, and sweat trickled down Heri's face and back.

Heri's gaze passed over shields and goblin-made helmets set on shelves rising to the ceiling as she flew up to escape the rising gold. Higher and higher she went until suddenly she spotted an object that made her heart skip and her hand tremble. She directed her globe of light towards it so that she could she it fully.

_This _was Hufflepuff's Cup. She could feel the soul inside it as she had with previous horcuces.

The little golden cup sparkled in the spotlight: the cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, which had passed into the possession of Zacharias' ancestor, Hepzibah Smith, from whom it had been stolen by Tom Riddle after he had murdered the poor old woman.

Without wasting a second, Heri landed on the shelf-top and returned to corporeality, wiping sweat from her brow, careful not to touch anything nearby. Avoidance was easy since the shelf-top was all but empty save the cup and a rubied silver flask. Working quickly, she dug inside her robes once more and drew out her basilisk fang slingshot and an Expanded black silk pouch.

Edging closer to the cup, Heri held the slingshot by its gilt-edged crown and hooked the sheathed tip on one of the handles. Gingerly, she then hoisted it up and into the awaiting pouch. The pouch greedily accepted its burden, the cup sliding in without a snag.

When Heri was certain the relic was secured, she heaved a sigh of relief.

Hyped up on adrenaline, Heri grinned to herself and punched the air. She had done it! Now all she had left to do was return to the Black vault. Well, after she did something about all the Doubled objects — Vanishing maybe? After that she'd be free to return home and eventually meet up with Professor Dumbledore so they could destroy—

A thought occurred to Heri.

A horcrux was made by inserting a sliver of soul into a vessel. Heri had inherited from her godly father the ability to consume creatures and absorb their beings into herself. She had on two occasions already consumed amortal spirits — a dementor back when she rescued Sirius and Professor Binns in fifth year.

It could be possible that she could also . . .

"_Namtar_," Heri called out with intent, a keen look in her eyes.

A shadow spread out from a shelf opposite of where Heri was seated despite her witchlight not wavering from its location. Tendrils of darkness billowed out like a cloud of sooty smoke, fingers of black reaching out to her. With a surge mist, Namtar condensed into being and bowed lowly where he floated.

"My lady calleth?" crooned the eerie psychopomp.

"Could I consume this shard of soul?" Heri demanded right away, shaking the silk pouch intently.

Namtar glanced down at the object being waved in his face. He then observed her quietly for a moment with a curious look on his unsettling face.

". . . Aye, my lady," he answered at last, his tone quiet and serious.

His unusual response gave Heri pause. She drew the pouch back into her chest and cocked her head in consideration.

"What would happen if I did?" she asked slowly. "The cup would stop being a horcrux, right?"

"The vessel would indeed become without a soul once more," Namtar replied, inclining his head. "And yet . . . in truth I know not what would become of my lady should she englut such a loathsome morsel."

"What do you mean?" Heri questioned warily.

" 'Tis the way of the Anunnaki that we take upon ourselves likenesses of our consumed. My lady may want to think further if she is eager to take upon herself traits of this being, this bitter foe."

". . . Are you saying I'll end up similar to Riddle in some way?" she asked, looking appalled. "But nothing like that happened before when I ate that dementor and my history professor!"

"Spirits and souls share much but differ greatly," Namtar corrected gently. "Ghosts and spectres may fulfil hunger, but no true substance have they. In opposition, a soul be the entirety of a living creature, the true body that controls the vessel. To consume a soul is to take in the entirety of another being."

"I suppose that makes sense . . ." Heri agreed reluctantly. "So I would be best off just destroying this thing like planned then?"

"This servant would ne'er presume to dictate the actions of your ladyship," Namtar replied, neither agreeing nor refuting. "I seek but to ensure my lady be aware of any and all possibilities. Mayhap the shard shall gift you what endowments your foe did amass throughout his years as in the way of others our kinsmen. All one, it shall ne'er more know the ways of the living."

Heri huffed. Always with this double talk!

"Isn't the point of all this to make sure Riddle finally stays dead?"

Namtar actually shrugged!

"Death is but the release of a soul from the mortal coil so that it may rest 'til it is to live again should it be found worthy," he said. "Should my lady consume this being, it shall ne'er live again. It shall no longer _be_."

Oh

_Oh_ . . .

She . . . Heri didn't know if she could — well, even if she _could, _was that something _anyone _should —? To _erase_ a _soul_, even _Voldemort's_ soul.

". . . Would you be alright with that?" she asked eventually, staring hard at the pouch in her hands. "I mean — I don't want him to hurt anyone any more or . . . or continue spitting on the sanctity of death — I dunno. It's your domain, right? I don't want to muck up how the life cycle works or anything . . ."

From Heri's understanding, once a person perished their soul would return to some version of the soul cycle depending on who they worshipped or whose domain they died in if they didn't worship any god at all. From there their spirit would face judgement and their soul would be wiped clean of their previous life. Depending on the belief system, the soul would either be sent back out directly to live again — as with Hinduism and Buddhism — or linger in the afterlife at the discretion of the gods that ruled the underworlds.

As someone who had always been a stickler for the rules of morality, Heri felt rather strongly about maintaining the relationship between souls and the afterlife. She was a daughter of an underworld god after all. She was a bit curious what would happen if she ate Voldemort's shard, but she wasn't sure if she would feel right interfering in a system that had been in place since the beginning of existence, never mind what might happen to _her _after absorbing such an evil thing into herself.

" 'Tis no matter to this Namtar should this fractured soul no longer be," said Namtar, distracting Heri from her thoughts. "A drop of water may ripple the pond, but our kinsmen did glut themselves 'pon the souls of Man from the time we did know it to be in our power; souls were consumed with nary a thought. Reality and the Universe are not so weak that to remove but a single soul from the cycle would cause irreparable break."

Heri eyed him suspiciously.

"So it would actually be fine if I did it?"

Namtar regarded her very seriously.

"In sooth this world will be as unencumbered as ever it hath been, yet what would become of you I know not. To take a soul unto yourself is to _know. _My lady would know all there be to know as if she did learn all herself. In regards to this soul . . . would such intimate knowledge of this soul's being suit my lady's sensibilities? This servant knoweth not."

To know the whole truth of Tom Riddle, of the abominable things he participated in and perpetuated as Voldemort . . .

Heri's grip on the pouch wavered.

"_No_."

Heri tightened the drawstrings on the pouch and knotted them decisively.

Namtar accepted her answer with a respectful incline of his head.

"Shall I escort my lady to where she will travel next?" he asked.

"In a minute if you want," said Heri, shifting where she sat so that she could climb on her feet on the shelf-top. "I have to take care of this mess of jinx'd rubbish and" — here she checked her pocket-watch — "Bugger! I have to make it quick or I'll be late getting back!"

Heri had less than ten minutes to return to the Black vault before Sirius and Iolanthe would be forced to leave without her.

Heri flew down and began Vanishing goblets and fake Galleons frantically, but to her dismay it seemed they were bewitched to Double instead of disappearing. She cursed as the pile of scorching gold rose higher instead of deminishing.

"Ugh!" she groaned and turned to the personification. "Is there anything you can—?"

Before she could finish her sentence, the cursed treasure was reduced to ash.

"Oh!" she exclaimed in shock, blinking rabidly. "W-well — thank you! Yes, this is a lot easier to Vanish!"

A final sweep of the vault made sure that everything looked as untouched as it had before Heri had arrived. With five minutes left on the clock, Heri burst into action to complete her mission.

Heri's heart clenched as she bypassed the dragon once more as she was leaving, but there was nothing she could do for it unless she wanted to very publicly escape from Gringotts on the back of a dragon, destroying property as she went, thus completely negating the whole point of a covert operation to begin with. She hardened her heart and continued on her way.

She flew back into the Black vault with half a minute to spare.

Upon arriving, Heri could see that Sirius was fidgety and troubled aside from his devil-may-care façade. He checked his watch compulsively and heaved an unhappy sigh, drawing Iolanthe's attention.

"Looks like it's time to go, kiddo!" Sirius said in a bright tone. "Any later than this and we'll be caught up in the lunchtime rush!"

Iolanthe hummed a sound of agreement, but her face was as upset as Sirius' would have had he not been forcing a smile.

Oh, but Heri didn't want them to be worried any longer! The mission was a success, they shouldn't be so uneasy any longer! Not knowing how to get Sirus' or Iolanthe's attention without drawing the notice of Bogrod as well as they would inevitably begin to leave, Heri moved on instinct and possessed Iolanthe.

Iolanthe's body jerked before straightening up again suddenly, her eyes wide and her mouth forming an 'O'.

It was a curious thing, possessing something. By all rights Heri should have felt right at home in Iolanthe since the doll was a perfect copy of her. But no, she could feel the difference. It was as if she was dressed in a full-body glove, there was a sense of separation from the world that one did not get in one's own body. A layer of film clinging to her skin. And while she could move all of Iolanthe's limbs with ease, there was this sense of delay between what she directed the limb to do and it actually taking action; a minuscule delay to be certain, but still unsettling.

"Heri?" said Sirius, looking confused.

Despite her disorientation, Heri grinned and nodded.

"It's me," she mouthed. "I'm here!" This was promptly followed by a cheery, "I'm fine! Just remembered I need to get some owl treats for Hedwig too."

Sirius looked both baffled and incredibly relieved at the same time.

"Is that right?" he replied, ruffling her hair affectionately. "We'll drop by Eeylops on the way then."

With Hufflepuff's Cup in tow, they left Gringotts with tired but satisfied smiles on their faces.

* * *

**A **month and a half into the summer holidays, the British demigods met up again to discuss what reply they had gotten from their counterparts on the Continent. To their dismay, it seemed none they had contacted were willing to get involved with Britannia's Dark Lord problem. As a last ditch resort, it was decided that the demigods would reveal themselves once more to the Isles so that those who would fight would be bolster by the piety actively directed towards them.

On her seventeenth birthday, all of Britain came to know that Herakles Potter was the daughter of a god. It took less than a day for the news to spread throughout all of Europe, eventually reaching the ears of the Americas and Asia as well.

For all who looked to Heri to save them from Voldemort, the revelation was heaven-sent. In homes all across the world that knew the terror of Voldemort, the people prayed for their deliverance.

* * *

*****Felis Nigrum Flu is actually canon, but I tweaked the name into Latin because it's hard to take a disease seriously when it's called Black Cat Flu. The Daily Prophet reported an outbreak of it in Britain in January of 1996, so I thought it would make sense for my weakened-constitution Heri to catch it at some point. Have you noticed that canon Harry never seemed to get sick? I thought it was odd that he never got any of the illnesses his peers caught despite outbreaks of sicknesses being common at schools.

******Do any of you remember Nigel Wolpert? He's movie-canon and was introduced to take the role of both the Creevey brothers in the later films starting from the 4th film (If I'm remembering correctly).

**AN**: Like Heri, I too was struck with the flu for a goodly amount of writing this chapter. Ugh, it was dreadful. My constitution is too strong for minor illnesses, so when they hit they strike hard! I spent a week of sleepless days and nights in bed, too exhausted to move but still unable to sleep because of the head-splitting pain and full-body aches. I lost hearing in one of my ears and it's only half returned. I've completely lost my sense of smell and taste despite having regained the use of my nose, but hopefully that can become a positive by curbing my eating and thus resulting in me losing weight. (Teehee)

It's been almost two weeks since I first became sick, so hopefully it'll let up by the end of the week. At least it's nowhere near as bad as what my poor Heri is suffering through!


End file.
